FIC ART NEEDED

ch1/ch 3 - MINORS/AGELESS BLOGS DNI

summary: You’d sworn you didn’t want anything to do with your father, or with your family business. You’d left the country for college, and by the time you’d started your second year of grad school your old life felt like a distant untrustworthy memory.

So when he calls you in late November to tell you he’s dying, your carefully constructed boundaries crumble. You agree to come home for Christmas, on the condition that you help him sort out his will.

By the time your plane lands, it’s too late. He’s died under mysterious circumstances while your plane was in the air. Chaos ensues, when millions of dollars, thousands of weapons, and a thriving criminal enterprise are willed directly to you - and your husband.

Just one problem? You’re not married. Yet.

genre: fluff, smut, angst

cws - mafia tropes, guns, threats, violence(physical), yan!oikawa for plot reasons, blood mention, drug mentions, reader’s father is dead, and in this chapter we have his funeral and she eulogizes him. All characters in their mid twenties. f!reader. reader’s skin shows bruises(sorry couldn’t get around this for plot reasons), readers celebrated christmas as a child.

The next morning, Kuroo knocks on your door to find you reading with your leg propped up on a pillow.

“It isn’t really a courtesy if you do knock and then come in without waiting for my response, you know.” Kuroo shrugs.

“It’s my house, unfortunately.” He hovers for a moment at the door though, before shaking something off and breezing into the room. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m in a considerable amount of pain.” You say, and he blinks at you. The only indication he sees that you’re in any kind of distress is perhaps a slight faraway look in your eyes, and of course the elevated position of your ankle. +

“I can get you some tylenol.” He shoves his hands in his pockets and you inspect him, a smile playing on your lips, as you take in his grey three piece suit, bedhead, deep red tie, and his conspicuously intentionally rolled up shirtsleeves.

“A few things,” you say, cocking your head. “Does it take extra effort to get fully dressed, comb your hair, and then mess it up a little?” He opens his mouth to respond but you keep going, “And also, you’re an arms dealer. Are you going to tell me there’s no percocet in this building? No tramadol, nothing?” You press your lips together, betraying a touch more emotion. “My father is dead. I have several broken bones. Tylenol isn’t going to cut it.”

Keep reading

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐠𝐧𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢 - 𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐁 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐰

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐌𝐏𝐀𝐆𝐍𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐅𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐈 | 𝐉𝐉𝐊 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐁 𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐀𝐔 title: champagne confetti - side B pairings: heartthrob!jk, yandere!jk x fashion employee f!reader genre: dark romance, smut, porn with plot, 90s word count: tba beta read by @chaoticpuff17 release date: january 2025

Prompt 1: “you give me brand new emotion, you got me drinking that potion” Prompt 2:  The lines did blur, in his mind for sure. Will you be tamed or will your passion for fashion falter for greater good - a life without Jeon Jungkook. When everything you’ve worked for hangs in the balance, his twisted love comes as both a gift and a curse.

summary: You, a determined fashion designer, find yourself entangled in a collaboration with the irresistibly charming and egotistic heartthrob, Jeon Jungkook. Will this partnership remain strictly professional, or will he make the lines blur?

warnings: minors dni 18+ | physical violence, hint of incapable police department, jk is the boy saviour here and everybody bends backwards for his famous ass, dubious consent, possessive/obsessive behavior, emotional manipulation, references to medication that affects mental and physical responses as "drugs" or "pills" or "medication", power imbalance, themes of isolation and confinement, gaslighting, mentions of mafia and criminal underworld, forced intimacy, oral sex (m!receiving), numbness, reader's difficulties getting wet, use of lube, fingering, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, riding/cow girl, orgasm difficulties, creampie, and so on (if i'll forgot smth, im so soorrryy!)

disclaimer: this story is purely fictional, it does not depict real-life events or involve any actual members of BTS. This story will contain strong language, explicit content, obsessive behaviour, alcohol drinking, illegal activities, oppressiveness, which we do not condone.

this is a sequel, read part one of 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐠𝐧𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢 main masterlist

author's note: so, where to start right? this was a long ass ride, mainly because i was fighting with myself to not burn out on this fic coz i loved it so much, and i still love it, but i won't lie that i got lil overwhelmed with how much love this fic received. I am so so so grateful for each and one of you! ♥ and thank you for your patience too. Life's not easy, please understand that, i always try my best. Thank you all. OH! I hope you will, have, or had very lovely and holy, merry christmas fairies ♥

You looked down at your mug, swirling the mulled wine as you gathered your thoughts. “I... I think I’m ready to go back to work,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

The change in Jungkook’s demeanor was immediate. The warmth in his eyes flickered out, replaced by something harder, colder. He set his mug down on the counter with a soft clink, his posture stiffening.

“What makes you think that?” he asked, his tone deceptively calm, but you could hear the edge beneath it. You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to meet his gaze.

“I’ve been good, haven’t I?”

Jungkook’s eyes narrowed slightly as he studied you, the tension between you palpable. He took a step closer, his presence imposing.

“You have,” he admitted, his voice low and measured. “But that doesn’t mean you’re ready to go back out there.”

You felt a pang of frustration, but you tried to keep your voice steady. “I need to feel normal again, Jungkook. I need to get out of here, to do something meaningful.”

His jaw tightened, and he reached out, gently but firmly taking the mug from your hands and setting it aside. His fingers lingered on your wrist for a moment, his touch both comforting and possessive. “This is meaningful,” he said, his voice softening just a fraction as he looked into your eyes. “Us, here, together. This is your life now, Y/N.”

“But..but you promised.” Jungkook's expression flickered, a brief moment of conflict passing through his eyes before his gaze hardened again. He took a deep breath, his grip on your wrist tightening slightly as he processed your words.

“I promised to keep you safe,” he said, his voice firm but with an undercurrent of something you couldn’t quite identify—fear, perhaps, or desperation. "And letting you go back to work... it's not safe for you now, Y/N.”

You pulled your wrist free, taking a step back to create some distance. “I can’t stay cooped up in here forever, Jungkook,” you said, your voice trembling but determined. “I need to feel like myself again. I need to be around people, to do something other than just exist in this penthouse.”

He took a step closer, his hands reaching out to cup your face, his touch gentle but his eyes intense. “You are my life now,” he said softly, his voice breaking slightly. “And I can’t lose you. Not to anything or anyone.” You closed your eyes, leaning into his touch despite the turmoil inside you. Jungkook’s thumb brushed over your cheek, his touch sending shivers down your spine.

“Freedom comes with risks, Y/N,” he murmured, his voice filled with a mix of love and possessiveness. “And I’m not sure I can handle those risks.”

“I promise I am not plotting, Gguk—” you began, but Jungkook’s eyes narrowed, his grip on your face tightening ever so slightly.

“Are you not?” he cut in, his voice low and dangerous. The hint of desperation from before was now replaced with a cold, steely resolve.

“Just give me a chance to prove—” His eyes bore into yours, searching for any sign of deceit.

“I don’t know if I can trust that, Y/N,” he murmured, his voice filled with an unsettling mix of love and possessiveness. He was silent for a long moment, his jaw clenched, the muscles in his neck tight with tension. Finally, he let out a slow breath, his grip on your face softening.

“We have a family dinner coming up. It’s important, and everyone will be there. If you can behave, show that you can handle yourself around my family, then maybe... just maybe, we can talk about you going back to work.”

The implication of his words settled over you like a weight. This wasn’t just about proving yourself to him; it was about proving yourself to his entire family. The thought was daunting, but you knew this might be your only chance. To get away from his grasp.

“I'll do my best,” you said, your voice trembling with a mix of determination and anxiety. “I promise.”

A small, almost tender smile tugged at the corners of Jungkook’s lips. “Good,” he said softly.

You swallowed hard, the pressure of the upcoming dinner weighing heavily on you. “Who will be there?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jungkook’s eyes flickered with something unreadable. “Everyone,” he said simply. “My parents, all of my Hyungs... among whom someone can offer you a position if you make a good impression.”

This was your chance, and you had to take it.

“I’ll be on my best behaviour,” you promised, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside you.

You stood there in Jungkook’s arms, the Christmas lights twinkling softly around you, you resolved to do whatever it took to reclaim a part of your life.

“Now, show me how good you can warm my cock this Christmas.”

.

.

.

.

.

𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐨𝐨𝐧

©pennyellee. please do not repost

tag list: @pamzn - @jaedayy (was unable to tag) - @mylyus-blog (was unable to tag) - @vanillacupcakefrosting - @jjeonjjk7 - @darkuni63 - @jeonaraathedreamer - @urlovelily - @kissyfacekoo - @looneybleus - @btspurplesky - @seokseokjinkim - @doulcha - @sexytholland - @minyngrl-blog - @mizuumii (was unable to tag) @ali99eel - @loomipee @jkslvsnella - @tearykth - @iveivory - @lachimolalajeon - @mother2monsters - @junecat - @mayvalentine33 - @ttanniett - @elle0604 - @mageprincess7 - @laylasbunbunny - @ashthetic7 - @00frenchfries00 - @weareatthebadlands (was unable to tag) - @annafarrr -

Don't be a silent reader, let's be friends chummers! ♥

see ya soon, love, p.

polarity | 05 yandere!jungkook au

pairing: yandere!jungkook x (f) reader

genre: yandere

warnings: 18+ , toxic relationships, unhealthy and obsessive behavior , mentions of mental health, manipulation, blackmail, cheating,

word count: 13.1k

summary: Your best friend’s new boyfriend becomes infatuated with you…

Parts: 01 | 02 | 03 | CS | 03 JK | 04 | 05 

A/N: So sorry for the delay but my wifi was doing me dirty again. Hope you guys enjoy !:) ALSO this is not edited yet so forgive me .

—

Neither of you said anything at first, not a single greeting or question was uttered. You both stood there, letting your eyes wander over each other in curiosity for god knows how long.

There was still one thing that stood out though. How the woman’s gaze kept returning to your necklace.

“I’m sorry, you are?…” She was the first one to speak, you were yet to form the appropriate response to acknowledge her and explain what you were doing in her son’s apartment.

You debated what you should tell her. The truth? It was out of the question, you were naive but not that naive. The first time meeting her and you immediately jump to accuse her son of blackmail and tell her everything wrong with him? Those were dangerous waters, you still didn’t know if what Jungkook told you about his family was true or not.

There was so much left unclear and so much yet you didn’t know.

“I-,” You take a step back, further widening the door open. “I’m Jungkook’s girlfriend.”

The lie sat surprisingly well on your tongue, as if that’s exactly what you truly were now. You supposed it was, not willingly but that’s  the title he would undeniably give you.

His mother doesn’t seem as shocked as you expected her to be despite the way her eyes widened momentarily, and her mouth opened slightly as a gasp left her.

“Oh!” She told you, her face relaxing as realization slowly seemed to hit her. “Yes, of course. He told me about you.”

He had?

You can’t help to be taken aback, not expecting Jungkook to actually mention you to his mother. How long had she known about you? Was it a recent thing? You wondered if Jungkook had already fed her too many lies , convincing her that he had formed a normal relationship with you.

The thought made you uneasy, how far had Jungkook planned this exactly?

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Tailspin

it's still the weekend somewhere, right??

Matsuno Chifuyu, Baji Keisuke & Hanemiya Kazutora x female reader

w.c 6.3k

tw: noncon, yandere themes, character death, manga spoilers, minor blood and gore, violence, nsfw, smut, murder

Chifuyu remembers things he shouldn’t.

Events that never happened, fights, brawls, the death of his friends… his own demise, drugged and tied to a chair, the muzzle of Kisaki’s pistol, burning from the prior shot, pressed to his forehead in the split seconds before he pulled the trigger.

He remembers other things too. Futures that clash and diverge, timelines that can’t have existed, they play out in his head, over and over again.

“Who’s that chick talking with Emma?”

Chifuyu doesn’t have to follow Baji’s line of sight to know who he’s talking about. Inevitably though, he does, catching you giggle at something the blonde says, sipping absentmindedly at the glass of champagne clasped in your fingers. 

His gaze slips to the dress you’re wearing, a satiny, floor-length floral and blush number, lingering on the slit at your mid thigh – the flash of skin he gets when you shift your weight.

His throat dries, and Chifuyu covers it with a cough, tearing his attention back to the table, his own drink in front of him, a bead of condensation slowly rolling down the glass. “A friend of Hina’s.” He shoots Baji a brief, pointed look, “And she’s got a boyfriend.”

Fuyu remembers him, too. 

Baji’s canines glint in a toothy smirk. “Yeah? He here tonight?”

As if on cue, a familiar, handsome brunet appears at your side, leaning down to drop a kiss to your cheek, his arm winding loosely around your side. There’s nothing all that possessive about the gesture – it’s unthinking. Instinctual. It has you smiling, mid-way through whatever it is you’re saying to the youngest Sano.

His chest tightens.

That same man, not nearly so good looking with his face all smashed in, leaking brains and blood onto the concrete–

“Shame,” Kazutora, sitting on his other side, murmurs, his dark, honey eyes still drinking you in as he downs another mouthful of whiskey. The corner of his lip quirks up, “She’s cute.”

‘There. Problem solved.’

Chifuyu returns the grin, leaning back in the chair with an exaggerated sigh, “Do not get into a fight on Takemitchy’s wedding day.” He side-eyes Baji, “Either of you.”

“You scared of him?”

“No, I don’t want to be kicked out of the reception because you two idiots started an all out brawl,” he laughs, and prays that neither one of them notice that his hands are all clammy, gripping too tightly at his drink. 

“What kinda wedding doesn’t have at least one good fight?” Baji scoffs, only half serious – enough of a concession that something loosens inside of him and his next breath comes easier.

Baji won’t start a fight, Kazutora won’t start a fight. It’ll be fine. 

You’re close with Hina and Emma and friends with Takemichi by extension. But gone are the days of Toman, where they’d spend the better part of their time screwing around together. Their lives aren’t all tangled up like they used to be. Another few hours, and this’ll be over. You’ll be gone, taking your stupid, handsome boyfriend with you and Chifuyu won’t have to worry about seeing you again. He can go back to pretending that you don’t exist.

Anything else is…dangerous. 

Moments later, they’re joined by Mitsuya and Hakkai, Yuzuha drifting to join the girls, and the conversation shifts to other, safer topics. Plates of canapes come by, and they eat and drink and talk stupid shit, most of it laughing and reminiscing over the dumb things they’d done with Takemichi as kids. 

For a while, it feels like he can breathe. Relax, and enjoy this, because it didn’t come easy. 

And you, you look happy enough with whatever his fucking name is. Chifuyu tells himself that that’s a good thing, too. 

The night wears on, slow, romantic tunes drifting from the speakers. In small groups and pairs, their friends have begun to leave, either heading home to crash or to find somewhere more lively to keep the party going. 

Amongst the few couples remaining, Hina and Takemichi cling to each other, swaying drunkenly on the dance floor, oblivious to anyone or anything but the other. It’s cute, in a disgustingly mushy sort of way. For his part, Chifuyu hangs by the open bar, nursing a glass of whiskey and doing his utmost to focus on anything but the space you occupy, dancing with your boyfriend. 

“You’re staring again.”

“Fuck off,” the words come out more tired than anything else. 

Kazutora drops into the empty seat beside him. “From the moment she walked in tonight, you’ve been all… weird about her. Why?”

‘Please, you’ve gotta help me get out of here, he– he’ll be back any minute.’

Chifuyu shrugs, “‘s nothing, really she just… reminds me of someone, that’s all.”

Kazutora hums, looking entirely unconvinced. For whatever reason, and much to his relief, he decides not to push it.

Bruised, split knuckles grip your chin tight, ‘You’re gonna be good for us tonight,’ Baji smirks. ‘‘Cause I’m really, really not in the fuckin’ mood, princess.’

“C’mon,” Chifuyu says, knocking back the last of his whiskey and slamming the glass down. “We should head out. Some of us have to open the store tomorrow.”

Kazutora snorts, but follows suit without complaint. The sooner they’re gone – the sooner you’re out of sight, out of mind – the better.

—

When Chifuyu shoots awake with a gasp, pulse racing, heavy beads of sweat rolling from the nape of his neck down his spine, it’s to the sound of his phone vibrating insistently.

Kazutora, he realises when bleary eyes adjust to the bright screen, and with a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach, he answers the call.

Wide, panicked eyes meeting his, hands grasping tightly at his arms. Two bodies lie on the floor; only one draws breath.

‘It was an accident, I swear to fucking god– you have to believe me. You believe me, right, Fuyu?’

The sheer relief that hits when the first words out of Kazutora’s mouth aren’t some combination of ‘I fucked up’, but ‘It’s Baji’ nearly knocks the breath right out of him.

Least ‘til they’re followed up with ‘accident’ and ‘ER’. 

He’s never thrown clothes on quicker.

The stuff he remembers from before – the timelines that don’t exist – they’re not always clear. Sometimes it’s difficult for him to place certain events in the right order, in the right timeline. He doesn’t always remember the knock on effect.

Baji’s death isn’t like that. 

You don’t forget that kind of pain. And yeah, maybe he got Kazutora out of it in the end, but fuck it almost destroyed him.

They saved him, though. They went back and they fixed it. He survived and Emma survived and Mikey and Draken and everyone – this is the future they’d fought tooth and nail for. This is their happily ever fucking after, and he can’t–

He won’t consider the possibility of another future without either one of his best friends in it.

Bursting through the doors of the ER, he feels all jumbled, heart beating out a frantic rhythm, breath coming ragged as though he’d physically run the five miles to get here. He scours the room… and spots Baji half propped up in a bed on the other side of the ward.

Awake, looking like he’d been dragged halfway to hell but–

Okay. He’s okay. 

The tension – part of it at least – lifts itself from his shoulders with a shaky exhale. 

Kazutora, sprawled across a chair beside him, notices him before Baji does. “You look like shit,” he comments, a wry grin tugging at his lips.

It earns him a smack to the back of his head as Chifuyu slides on past, grabbing another nearby seat and plonking himself down. 

“What the fuck happened to you?” He tries to laugh it off, really he does. There’s a few bandages, what looks like a broken arm, some cuts and grazes on his face. They’ve all landed themselves in the ER in worse states than this and come out the other side perfectly fine, but he can’t–

He can’t stop seeing it play out in his head, over and over. 

Baji dying. The sense of utter helplessness that swallowed him whole, clutching his dead body in his arms. The sound of his best friend’s last breath, that fucking smile–

‘I’d kill for some peyoung yakisoba right now.’

Baji scoffs, “Some asshole clipped me is what fucking happened.” Side-eyeing him, he adds, “Relax, dude, it’s nothing. I’m fine.”

He really needs to lighten the fuck up. 

“We’re waiting on–”

“–go already?! You got me here, I don’t need your help anymore, go home.”

Chifuyu’s eyes – Baji’s and Kazutora’s too– shift instinctively to the source of the outburst. Wheeled in by a nurse, your boyfriend trailing behind you like a kicked puppy, Chifuyu’s heart leaps into his throat at the sight of you, tear stricken, pain etched over every inch of the scowl you wear, clutching an ice pack to your ankle. 

‘Pick.’

Fearful eyes flicker between them, silently pleading for a reprieve. ‘But I-I haven’t done anything.’

He hums contentedly, and takes your hand in his, fingers entwining to bring it to his cheek, nuzzling against the soft skin. “Maybe not… but you were thinking about it. So pick one, or I’ll break them both.”

Something dark and unpleasant roils in his stomach.

“Babe, can we–” your boyfriend glances around the room, visibly cringing at unwanted attention the two of you have drawn. He lowers his voice to a hushed whisper, “Can we talk about this later? I get that you’re upset–”

Beside him, Kazutora’s head tilts, “Isn’t that…?” 

“…Yeah.”

“Considering it’s your fault that I’m here in the first place, yeah, you could say I’m pretty pissed!” you snap.

The nurse, doing her absolute best to ignore the squabbling and maintain some air of professionalism, gives you a sympathetic look as she parks the wheelchair next to a bed opposite the three of them and helps you up. “The doctor won’t be long,” she says, patting your shoulder before she turns to depart.

… Not without a sharp, pointed glare towards your harried looking boyfriend. 

That’s all background noise. Chifuyu’s too busy turning those words over and over in his head, waiting for them to click.

Your fault.

Your. Fault. 

And his eyes shift back to the ice pack you’re holding to a swollen ankle, the sheen of tears on your face, and a sudden, violent urge claws its way to the surface. It takes every ounce of self control he possesses not to launch himself across the room and start beating the shit out of him right there and then.

If he touched you, if that asshole fucking hurt you–

“That’s not fair. I said I was sorry–”

“Oh, you’re sorry?! Go to hell, Ginji! Actually, no. On second thought why don’t you go back to Rin’s instead, sounded like her bed was real cold without you there to fucking warm it!” 

While your voice quavers, the words are no less acidic. No less furious. You might be on the verge of shattering, but if looks could kill, your piece of shit boyfriend would be dead twice over.

Ginji stands there, mouth opening and closing soundlessly, floundering for words. 

He goes to touch your shoulder only to second guess himself, his hand hovering awkwardly in the air for a moment, then dropping back down to his side – a good decision on his part, considering Chifuyu’s half tempted to march his way over there and break it. 

Cheating? That piece of shit was cheating on you? 

Huh. Maybe the universe does have a sense of humour after all, twisted as it is.

Your boyfriend at least has the decency to look ashamed of himself, cheeks flushing pink. Rather than meeting your accusatory stare, his eyes are downcast, the speckled linoleum suddenly infinitely more interesting to the man. 

“It was a mistake,” he admits, choking the words out like they’re physically stuck in his throat. “I shouldn’t– I never meant to hurt you. I love you.”

Bitterly, you scoff, and Ginji flinches like you’ve struck him.

Good, Chifuyu thinks. Someone should hit the asshole. 

He, Baji and Kazutora aren’t the only ones drawn in by your argument. The doctors and nurses that breeze past, slowing their pace ever so slightly to catch a few seconds more, the patients in the beds around you, subtly leaning in, hushing their friends and families to better hear the drama unfold.

If you were less worked up, all the attention you two have drawn would probably bother you a hell of a lot more than it currently is. 

You weren’t the kind of girl who got off on causing a scene. The nosiness, complete strangers watching something deeply personal between you two unravel like it’s free entertainment, he almost feels bad for you. 

Then again, he’s seen you in far more compromising, vulnerable positions than this, and enjoyed it, too. 

Any guilt he might’ve felt – should have felt – was buried a long, long time ago. He’s not all that interested in digging it back up, and even if he wanted to, Chifuyu’s not so sure he could tear himself away.

“Just… go away,” you mutter. “Haven’t you done enough tonight?”

From your vantage point, staring misty eyed at your lap, you miss the way your boyfriend’s expression hardens. Chifuyu doesn’t.

He sighs, long suffering, “You’re being stubborn for the sake of it, you can’t get home on your own. You can barely walk, babe.”

“I’ll manage.” A curt dismissal.

“We can drive her home.”

Chifuyu’s soul ascends from his body, eyes incredulous – horrified – as he turns his head to find Kazutora staring straight at Ginji, eyes dark and glittering, a smile on his lips. 

It isn’t a pleasant expression. 

Your boyfriend rounds on the three of them, straightening his shoulders, shifting to hide you from view as though they’re some sort of a threat and he could in any way actually shield you from it.

(The first part is true, his subconscious reminds him. The second undoubtedly isn’t.)

“I’m sorry, who are you?” he sneers, shooting them a disdainful glower. “Mind your own damn business, we’re having a private conversation here.”

… A super private conversation with half the ER listening in. If he weren’t so on edge, Chifuyu might be tempted to laugh at that. As it is, his expression only tightens. 

Baji, bruised, bloodied and bandaged, matches Kazutora’s grin from his position propped up on the bed. The idiot barely escaped becoming roadkill, yet still manages to look like he wants nothing more than to start beating the shit out of your boyfriend right in the middle of the ER.

This is dangerous territory. His fingers twitch and flex, glancing uneasily between you, your boyfriend and his friends, trying to think of the right words to say to diffuse this situation, to get their attention off of you, you away from that asshole, and–

‘I hate you.’

Chifuyu presses a kiss to your naked shoulder, drawing himself closer to steal your warmth. ‘I know.’

“Oh my god, would you stop, Gin!” you snap, taking all four of them by surprise. Quieter, you add, “They’re Michi’s friends, don’t be rude.” 

That, it seems, is the breaking point for your boyfriend. 

He spares you an incredulous look, and shakes his head with a scoff, “Yeah, whatever. Call me when you wanna act like an adult about this and we can talk.” 

“Run along now,” Kazutora taunts, not quite quick enough to dodge the sharp elbow Chifuyu jabs into his ribs.

With one final huff, Ginji does exactly that. 

The moment his figure disappears through the sliding double doors, you let out a shuddering gasp, crumbling in on yourself as a fresh wave of tears bursts forth. On sheer instinct alone, Chifuyu’s halfway out of his seat before his brain’s registered he’s moved at all – only to stop dead in his tracks when one of the ER docs materialises at your bedside, chart in hand, and introduces herself. 

He swallows, forcing himself back into the uncomfortable plastic chair. 

“Dude, you good?” Again, if he were in a better mood perhaps he’d appreciate the humour in Baji, laid up in a hospital bed, being the one to ask if he’s okay.

“Yeah.”

Nobody says much after that. 

He’s distinctly aware of the curious, borderline concerned glances from his friends – not to mention the ones they share with each other – he’s hard pressed to care when his attention keeps getting pulled over to where you’re getting your exam, every wince and muffled cry of pain like knives under his skin, all too familiar.

You clutch at him with hands like claws, desperate, wailing, crying, a gross mix of snot and tears dribbling down your face as fingers poke and prod at your injured leg.

‘Stop being a dick, we need to set it or it won’t heal properly.’

Another twist of his wrist and you choke out another scream, burying your face in his chest to sob. 

His hand now rubbing soothingly at your calf, Kazutora’s expression turns thoughtful, ‘…Wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world, would it?’ His eyes meet Chifuyu’s, ‘If it didn’t heal right, I mean.’ 

When they bring you back from getting an x-ray, rather than the bed you were in before, the one opposite them, the nurse wheels you over to the recently vacated bay next to Baji’s.

“So you can wait with your friends,” she says kindly, helping you up onto the bed. 

He waits for you to tell her that they’re not really your friends, that this has all been blown way out of proportion and you barely know them – which is the truth. 

You don’t, simply thanking her with a polite nod, and once she’s out of earshot you collapse back against the pillows with a sigh, “At least the pain meds are kicking in.” You turn your head to look at them, “Thanks, by the way. You don’t actually have to drive me home. You guys did enough getting him out of here.”

Baji opens his mouth–

“Did he do that to you?” Chifuyu cuts in before either of the others have a chance to reply, jerking his chin towards your swollen, most likely broken ankle. “You said…”

Your fault. 

There’s zero moral high ground for him to stand on, he’s perfectly aware of that, but it’s been bugging him ever since those words slipped out. If Chifuyu finds out that asshole actually laid a fucking hand on you, he’s gonna lose it.

If anyone – anyone – hurts you this time around, promises or not, he’s going to return the favour without hesitation; eye for an eye, tooth for fucking tooth.

Nobody touches you. 

For a second you frown at him, confused, and then something must click because you laugh, sad and more than a little sheepish, and shake your head. “No, no, not like that. We were fighting about the whole… sleeping with his ex thing.” His fingers curl into a fist. “I went to storm out of the apartment, he grabbed my wrist to stop me and I tripped. Pretty dumb, right?”

He doesn’t laugh with you. None of them do.

—

Chifuyu gets a text from Takemitchy the next day. Between all the emojis and the exclamation marks, it’s a thank you note. You’re practically a sister to Hina, and now that they’re married, a sister to him, too.

All he did was drive you home, and Takemichi’s acting like he stepped in front of a bullet.

Yeah, Chifuyu’s a real knight in shining armour. 

… A masochist, maybe.

Ignoring the fresh wave of self disgust that settles inside of him, he sends a thumbs up in response. 

What else is he supposed to say; yeah, no worries, it’s the least I could do after making her life a misery the past few goes ‘round?

They’ve all done bad things, he won’t deny that. Killed people. Hurt people. Kazutora stabbed Baji, Draken ended up on death row for murdering Kisaki, in multiple timelines Mikey was either directly or indirectly responsible for all of their deaths. Even Takemitchy lost his way once or twice before he caught up with himself.

And it’s not that he holds that against any of them. Takemitchy certainly doesn’t. Things were fucked up for a long time, and each of them became fucked up people trying to deal with that. 

But in the same way he can’t be around Kisaki without wanting to throttle him, Chifuyu can’t look at you without seeing every awful, horrible act they put you through play out in his head like a movie that won’t turn off. Rewriting the timeline doesn’t erase that. It doesn’t absolve him of the guilt.

So he stays away. Keeps Baji and Kazutora away. 

Or tries to, at least.

A few hours after Takemichi’s text, his phone lights up again, vibrating to announce a new message, this time from a number he doesn’t recognise. 

Hey, I got your number from Michi! Hope you don’t mind–

There’s more, he doesn’t read the rest. Deletes the message, switches his phone to do not disturb and shoves it back into the pocket of his jeans, forcing himself to focus on the inventory lists in front of him and not the pounding in his chest. 

Chifuyu’s trying, he’s trying so fucking hard. You’re not making this any easier.

—

A week and a half later, the weather outside is miserable and the store is quiet when, a little before closing, the bell above the door rings, announcing a customer. 

Baji with his busted arm sits at the counter, Kazutora busy with restocking the shelves, so Chifuyu, out the back working through the month's expenses and wondering (not for the first time) why he hasn’t yet hired an accountant to do this for him, ignores it.

At least until he hears an all too familiar sound trickling through the door, one that sends a pang straight to his heart. 

Your laugh.

Unmistakable, unforgettable, Chifuyu’s mind goes blank and like a dog with a scent he’s out, weaving his way to the front of the store, chasing after it. He finds you, moon boot and all, leaning up against the front counter, laughing at something Baji’s said.

The image of you, relaxed, perfectly at ease, happier than he’s seen you for a while – the wedding included – does a funny thing to his insides. And then you turn to face him, your countenance brightens and for a good few seconds he forgets how to breathe.

You’ve always been beautiful to him – smiling, though, it’s a gut punch. Palms sweaty, heart racing, he’s struck dumb. 

“Chifuyu!”

‘Fuyu–Fuyu, please–N-ugh!’

‘Don’t know what you’re begging him for, princess. Chifuyu’s not gonna help you.’ 

Baji’s hand curls through your hair, dragging your torso up to meet his bare, sweat slicked chest. Dark eyes glint, his tongue drags along your neck, teeth nipping at your earlobe, causing you to whimper. 

He laughs meanly, ‘He’s enjoying this too much.’

“You’re here,” he replies lamely, glancing to his left to find Kazutora watching him with thinly veiled amusement. 

You take it in stride, “Well yeah, you never replied to my message, so I had to ask Hina for the address. You’re a difficult guy to get a hold of.” 

The teasing lilt in your voice tells him you’re only joking, his cheeks flush anyway.

“How’s the ankle?” he asks instead.

“Better! Still a pain, but you know, it could’ve been worse. I can walk… kinda. More of a hobble, I guess.”

“Least you can take yours off when you’re showering,” Baji grumbles from behind the counter.

You laugh, “True.” To Chifuyu, you add, “I wanted some stuff for Bean, and since you never replied to my message, I thought I’d kill two birds with one stone and swing by.”

“Bean?” Kazutora asks, completely abandoning all pretence of working to draw closer and join in on the conversation.

“My kitten. She’s a little terror.” 

… You used to play with the strays Kazutora brought home, he remembers that. Talked to them in that soft baby voice, coaxing them closer for pats and treats. Let them curl up and fall asleep on your lap when you were reading or watching tv. 

It was almost definitely an act of petty defiance, showering the felines in love and affection all the while ignoring them as much as they’d allow. Hard to take it to heart, though, when watching you fawn over them was pretty much the cutest thing he’d ever seen. 

“Anyway, there’s this new noodle bar that’s opened up down the road. You guys are almost finished up, right? Let me have a look around for a few things for Bean, you can close up and we’ll go. My treat.”

He arches an eyebrow, “Because we drove you home?”

“Because you didn’t have to drive me home, or stand up to Ginji, or keep me company in the first place,” you counter, still with that same open earnestness, that soft expression that has his insides all tied up in knots. “And because I want to. Are you really going to turn down a free meal?”

The universe is fucking with him. Punishing him, maybe. 

And it’d be so, so easy to blame you for it – you’re like one of those sad, beaten down dogs that keeps returning to its master no matter how many times they’re kicked – except there’s no version of this where he’s the good guy, and you don’t remember anything different. 

Chifuyu’s expression shifts into a paper thin smile. “Take your time looking around,” he tells you. “But dinner… It was just a lift, no need to make a big deal out of it. We’re good.” 

“Oh, yeah– no, of course! I um, I won’t keep you guys long.”

It’s Kazutora, watching the exchange with that same considering look he’d worn back at the wedding, who cuts in, saving Chifuyu from responding. “No rush, take as long as you want.”

Your eyes flicker back to Chifuyu, hesitant now, unsure. Still, you paper over that disappointment, your expression not quite as bright as the one before, but genuine all the same. “Thanks, I mean it. And… if you change your mind about dinner,” you shrug easily, “the offer’s open.”

He only nods, turning sharply on his heel to leave before you can get another word in. 

Before you can convince him that dinner is in any way a good idea. 

You shouldn’t make him feel like this – not guilty. No, he’d take the guilt in heaping droves, he certainly deserves it. You make him feel all off kilter, like his heart’s beating out of sync, and his whole body’s wired wrong. 

You stick in his head, refusing to budge. To give him a minute’s fucking peace.

And as he makes it back into the sanctuary of his office, firmly shutting the door behind him and falling back against it with an unsteady breath out, Chifuyu wonders if this isn’t your own brand personal of torture. 

If it is, it’s sure as hell working. 

—

Fingers wind into your hair, Chifuyu shudders, groaning appreciatively at the sight before him. 

Your eyes are big, swimming with desperate, pretty tears as you choke and gag around the cock stuffing your face. For him it’s heaven – the plush, wet heat of your mouth, the tiny spasms of your throat closing around him when he pushes in deeper.

He curses, moaning louder, dragging your face to his pelvis and holding it there, rutting his hips faster, fucking your face as you beat and claw at his thighs, unable to breathe. That blistering thread of pleasure deep in his core pulls taut–

Chifuyu’s eyes snap open, heart pounding, and he gasps for air. In his boxers, his cock twitches insistently, half hard and aching, the phantom sensation of your lips wrapped around it too fresh to ignore. 

If he had a shred of decency left in him, he’d go and take a cold shower. If he were more awake, if it weren’t the dead of the night, if his bed wasn’t so comfortable, and the memory of you swallowing him down any easier to banish.

His hand snakes down into his boxers, and as he bites down on his bottom lip to muffle any noise and takes himself in hand, rubbing the now throbbing length, he tries not to think about how disgusted you’d be if you could see him now. 

—

You’re at Takemichi’s birthday, chatting animatedly with Pah’s girlfriend when he arrives. You brighten when you see him though, and wave. Half heartedly, he returns it, then spends the rest of the night doing his utmost to avoid you.

Which in no way deters the birthday boy himself from plopping down beside him, beer in hand, and awkwardly attempting to set you two up. 

“She’s great! And y’know, she’s pretty and super nice. And um, she broke up with that Ginji guy so she’s single right now as well.”

He bites back an bitter laugh, and risks another glance your way. 

A few days later, Chifuyu runs into said ex on his way home from a late night beer and snack run. The brunet doesn’t notice him, minding his own business up ahead on the sidewalk. 

There’s nothing in particular that sets him off. He’s not even sure it was a conscious decision. One minute they’re walking, the next they’re down an alleyway out of sight and he’s on top of Ginji, beating the absolute shit out of him.

And he can’t stop.

His fists are slick with blood, knuckles split, and the wet thwacking of flesh hitting flesh drowns out the sound of his own haggard breath, the yelps that turn into grunts and groans, and then garbled nothings.

In his head, the images shift, coming one after the other, relentless–

You, flinching away from his touch, trying in vain to hide your tears.

Baji, panting, balls deep inside of you, forcing your lips together in a violent kiss. 

The sick, soft delight playing in Kazutora’s eyes, his fingers tracing idle patterns into your shoulder as you sleep. ‘She’s perfect, isn’t she?’

He can’t stop.

He can’t stop.

—

“Dude, what the fuck is wrong with you?”

Chifuyu blinks, jerking back to the present in time to realise that the shelf he’s been re-stocking is already full, and he’s been standing there mindlessly trying to shove extra products into a space they physically won’t fit for god only knows how long. 

He shakes his head, clearing his throat and glances at Baji. “Nothing, it’s– I’m fine.”

From the disbelieving look on his face, the single raised eyebrow, he can tell Baji doesn’t buy it. Chifuyu can’t blame him, really – it’s been days of this, operating on some weird, malfunctioning autopilot, pretending that everything’s a-okay when he hasn’t slept and barely eats. He can’t close his eyes without seeing you.

He’d honestly be more surprised if his friends hadn’t noticed anything amiss. 

“I’m good,” he repeats, forcing a tight smile. 

Is this what it feels like to lose his mind?

—

When Takemichi calls him late one night a few days later, he’s expecting some sort of well intentioned – albeit clumsy and heavy-handed – attempt at an intervention.

‘We’re worried, you’ve been acting kinda… strange lately. You know you can always talk to us, right?’

He’d have to be blind to miss the shared looks between Baji and Kazutora at work. More than once he’d walked in on the two of them whispering between themselves, only for them to separate and act completely oblivious the second they noticed him. 

Chifuyu wouldn’t put past either one of them to confide in Michi about it, either. 

As it turns out, he’s wrong.

The day of your funeral, it rains all day. Not a light drizzle either; black skies and rumbling thunder, a deluge that won’t let up. It feels fitting.

Chifuyu puts on a suit, drives with Baji and Kazutora to join Takemichi and their friends at the shrine. Neither one of them ask why he’s adamant on going to the funeral of a girl he barely knew.

They don’t say much of anything at all. 

An older couple is standing by the doors when they arrive, greeting the mourners as they enter. It takes him a second to realise that they must be your parents. Your mother cries quietly, your father shaking hands and thanking them in a stiff, thick voice for coming.

Once inside, he spots Hinata in her kimono first, crying her eyes out on a misty eyed Michi’s shoulder, Emma standing to her left, not faring much better. But the others are there too, dotted throughout the room; Draken, Mikey, Pah and Pe-yan. Mitsuya with his sisters, Hakkai with his. 

Whether they’re here for you or in support of Hinata and Takemichi, he doesn’t know, nor can he muster the energy to care. 

Chifuyu says little the entire time, jaw set, bloodshot eyes rimmed in red, and the only thing he can focus on throughout the service – the only thing keeping him together – is the deathly tight grip Baji keeps on his shoulder and Kazutora’s hand locked around his. 

A mugging gone wrong. What kind of sick fucking joke is that?

They put you through hell, you suffered and suffered and suffered, and he fixed it. He did everything right this time; kept his distance and nearly drove himself insane, and for what?

You were supposed to have some kind of a future.

If you weren’t with them, then you were supposed to be happy. 

Instead you’re gone, and Chifuyu can’t feel anything. 

There’s just… nothing. A gaping, jagged hole in his chest, and he realises that he was wrong earlier. Losing his mind wasn’t forcing himself to give you up and stay away, losing his mind is staring at the coffin holding your dead body.

—

Takemitchy, tipsy and loose-lipped, told him once about how he’d gained the time leaping ability. How Shin had, before him. 

—

A fist pounds at the door, “Oi, hurry up. We’re gonna be late!”

Chifuyu lets out a breathless laugh. 

His shirt’s rumpled, tie askew, the waistcoat and jacket laid out on the bed in preparation for today carelessly shoved aside, and as for his pants – they’re unbuckled and hanging from his thighs.

His hips snap forward, drawing a sharp squeal from you, which he’s quick to soothe with another feverish kiss. “Shh, almost–” he pants, licking his lips, “almost there.” 

And true to his word, he picks up the pace, moaning at the way your tight little pussy clenches reflexively around him, spasming under the relentless barrage of his cock stuffing you full, molding your insides to the shape of him. 

You’re probably still sore and oversensitive from earlier. They hadn’t been gentle, Tora spreading your legs and shoving his face between your thighs before you’d even woken up, Baji quick to join in on the fun. You’d whined and sniffled and pleaded, tearfully begging for them to stop, but you always look so cute like that, shuddering and wrecked, cumming for them in a fucked out stupor over and over.

He knows they should treat you better, take a little more care with you – at least with stuff like this. Right now, though, it’s impossible to think of anything but chasing his own pleasure, fucking you deeper, faster, the sheer bliss of you milking every last drop of cum from his cock while he groans out your name.

He’ll make it up to you later. 

Your nails rake down his back, harsh enough to draw blood if not for his shirt, and he hisses in pleasure. Your tears, the breathless pleas, even the weak struggles beneath him, none of it breaks through that haze, he’s wholly lost to the pleasure of your cunt. His grip on you tightens, drawing you closer, your naked, heaving tits pressed against his chest. He can feel your racing heart pounding. 

His head tips back, mouth falling open. The rhythm of the onslaught gives way to urgency, hips faltering, punching himself deeper in short, rabbitting paps.

You hide your face in his shoulder, clinging to him, choking back a sob–

“Fuyu! For fuck’s sake, if you don’t hurry the hell up and finish, we’re going to miss the damn wedding!” Baji snarls through the door.

You tense, toes curling, and squeeze so tightly around his cock that Chifuyu loses control entirely, pleasure exploding like stars behind his eyes, ripping through him violently as spurts of hot, thick cum splatter your insides. His hips rock into you, and he murmurs your name in a contented sigh, riding out his orgasm with a few last, lazy thrusts.

When the wave eventually recedes and he catches his breath, he carefully eases his cock free, lowers you down to the bed – paying no mind to the cum that dribbles from your abused cunt onto the bedsheets below – and presses an affectionate kiss to your forehead. 

“You’re so good to us,” he mumbles, collapsing down beside you. 

You stiffen at the words. Fat, glistening tears well in your eyes and spill silently down your lashes. Gently, he thumbs them away, but you don’t say anything.

You rarely do these days, if you can help it. 

If he weren’t in such a rush, he’d take the time to clean you up, get you some water. Instead, he has to make do with a quick kiss, forcing himself to get up and fix his appearance, tucking his spent cock back into his pants.

Takemitchy’ll almost definitely have a meltdown if they’re not at the venue soon. 

Racing around the room, gathering up his clothes and throwing them on, he keeps a half an eye on you. You don’t move beyond a soft, shaking tremble, your quiet sobs tugging at his heartstrings. 

This is better than the alternative, though.

You might not see that yet, but that doesn’t make it any less true. And they love you. He loves you. If it keeps you alive and safe and with them, he won’t apologise for it.

The simple truth of it is he, Baji and Kazutora – they can’t survive without you, and you can’t survive without them. 

the story you reblogged said weiterlesen so i was like wait a damn minute and did the math, i feel mad stalkerish now 😩

this might be really weird but are you by any chance german ? 🥺im sorry if this is a weird question

Yepp I'm german😋 How did you know?🤔

READY OR KNOT | 1 | TODOROKI SHOUTO x READER

SUMMARY: Todoroki Shouto is so unsettlingly beautiful, you’re certain he has to be an omega. That is, until a chance encounter with a pushy alpha reveals you were incredibly mistaken—and the surprises don’t stop there. Shouto's suddenly mystifying behavior adds another layer of complexity to an already confusing inter-agency investigation. It would be so much easier to figure things out—and suppress your growing feelings—if only Shouto would stop being so strangely attentive to you... TAGS/WARNINGS: pro hero au, fem + afab reader, omegaverse, alpha shouto, beta reader, misunderstandings, courting behavior, slightly case fic-y, undertones of sexual violence (not between main pairing), aged-up characters, eventual smut, 18+ minors please dni! LENGTH: 4.6k, 1st of 7 chapters

Tetsutetsu’s apartment was exploding with people by the time you made it in from the cold.

Even from outside, you could hear the chatter of dozens of voices, the thumping bass of a distant party playlist. The front door was practically wedged shut by all the bodies blocking it, and you had to suck in a breath as you squeezed yourself through, slithering through what seemed to be every single employee of the Pink Riot agency—a plethora of bulky pro heroes stuffed in among lanky support techs and sleepy-eyed case analysts.

Inside, it stank of warm beer with a slightly sweeter, sharper liquor undertone. Your nose wrinkled. You could only imagine what the scent was like to your alpha and omega coworkers, grateful you had a beta’s dulled sense of smell, and no innate reaction to the physical proximity of other secondary genders. The space was already almost overwhelming as it was, the press of people nearly claustrophobic, although no one else looked like they minded much.

You shoved yourself through the crowd, squeezing through people, somewhat regretting how late you’d gotten here. You hoped there was still something good to drink.

In your defense, you’d gotten bogged down with a bombshell of a new case at the agency, something Mina had pulled you aside to talk about on your way out to the party. She’d meant for you to pick it up Monday, as you couldn’t take any action until a supervising hero had been assigned to you. But it was so unlike any other case you’d been handed in your years at Pink Riot that you’d immediately yanked your coat back off and holed yourself up at your desk, poring over the information in shock.

The case file told you that there was a rogue pro hero harassing and assaulting the omegas in Bunkyo ward—the very ward the Pink Riot agency operated in.

What was more, local authorities suspected someone from the agencies within Bunkyo itself, considering the attacks were exclusively confined to the ward and had so far never deviated. The police had been alerted to the fact that a hero might be involved when one of the omegas who had been attacked last night had escaped, shaken but untouched, and reported their aggressor attempting to strap quirk suppressors on them—tech that was almost exclusively a tool of the heroics trade.

And so all Bunkyo-based agencies had been asked to internally investigate their heroes, with mandatory out-of-agency supervising heroes to be assigned to the cases as well, to ensure everything was above board and no cover ups were being staged. And you, as Mina’s personal friend and therefore the case analyst she trusted most with a sensitive file like this, had been assigned the task.

And it was already almost too mind-boggling for you to bear.

You plowed your way towards the kitchen, eager to chase away the idea of any of your hero coworkers as the perpetrator. You liked and trusted all of the heroes Pink Riot had on call, and hoped so desperately that another agency was at fault here. You couldn’t imagine a single one of them being responsible for something like this. You couldn’t imagine the harasser themself attending this very party.

Once in the kitchen, you discovered that Tetsutetsu had invited more than just the Pink Riot agency itself—he had also apparently invited a plethora of heroes from his former UA days. Sero Hanta and Uraraka Ochako were propped up in the kitchen with Mina and Kirishima, smiling and chatting, while Iida Tenya stood next to them, looking, as usual, like he was on the verge of a hernia. Monoma Neita was skulking in a corner, along with a couple of lower-level heroes you recognized as Tetsu’s Class B friends.

Mina perked up immediately when she caught sight of you, hopping off the counter at Kirishima’s side, beckoning you closer with a hot pink nail.

“You have to taste this disgusting thing Tetsu made,” she told you gleefully, gesturing at something vaguely gelatinous on the stove. You recoiled reflexively, even as Mina ladled a generous portion into a plastic cup for you, passing it over.

You did not like the weight of it in your hand—and the smell of it, even to your duller senses, was not exactly appetizing, more nail polish remover in profile than anything.

“Wow, this looks almost as lovely as the new case file. How generous of you,” you intoned, taking a small, investigative sip. The taste zipped down your spine all the way to your toes, so alcoholic you could almost taste an emergency room visit.

But it figured. Pro heroes in general were a hard bunch to get drunk, their metabolisms fast and their bodies honed to withstand limits a normal person could never. You imagined this was Tetsu’s own invention based on years of personal research.

Mina sloshed her own cup at you, bright-eyed as she normally was, but otherwise looking unruffled. “Tetsu and Eiji already have a bet going which of them can put back more of this, but my bet is on me,” she grinned. “They’re behind a cup already.”

You winced. “Such responsible agency heads I have.”

Mina practically cackled. “You love it.”

You couldn’t help the fond smile that pulled at your mouth, listening to her bright laughter. “I do.”

And it was true, after years at the Pink Riot agency you were spoiled for anywhere else.

Your caseload was broad and interesting, Mina and Kirishima the perfect amount of invested but trusting, always caring about the results you brought in for the safety they brought Bunkyo ward, but never micromanaging you or demanding the impossible. The agency was a little bit smaller than other agencies founded by members of their former class—a mid-sized, fairly-closely knit operation that prioritized action and minimized bureaucracy.

And it was a sort of family operation. Mina was an omega, small and bright and totally beautiful the way so many omegas were, the warmness of her personality like a magnet. And Kirishima was her bonded alpha—fairly friendly and easy-going for one, you thought—but strong, firm in his resolve, and deeply committed.

You liked them, liked their relationship, and liked how their traits translated to their management of their joint agency. You liked how the agency had basically sprung up around them, filled to the brim with good people. And so yeah, Mina was right. You did love it.

“Make sure you unwind,” Mina ordered you, flashing a pink nail in your face. “Don’t think I didn’t notice that it’s been like two hours since I saw you disappear with that case file.”

Your cheeks heated. “Did you know some agency heads like it when their employees do their jobs?”

Mina grinned wickedly, then made a sort of clucking noise. “Did you know that some agency heads are no funsies? I like when my employees do their jobs and still have time for a social life.”

A smile tugged at your mouth. Your social calendar had never been so full as when you started working at Pink Riot, their rosters absolutely packed with outgoing heroes. Someone or other was always throwing a party, organizing a celebratory dinner when an especially big case was closed, or dashing across the floor yelling “drinks on me!” after nailing a particularly notorious villain.

Between the agency and your own friends you thought you were kept rather busy. But the sudden, shifting look of undue interest on Mina’s face told you she thought otherwise.

“When was the last time you went on a date, hmm?” she asked, waggling her eyebrows. “I never catch you smelling like anyone. Looking for anyone here?”

“And who told you you could smell me?” you demanded.

Mina cackled. “It’s not like I can turn my nose off. Plus you smell nice and comforting. Very beta. I wouldn’t stop smelling you even if I could.”

Your ears went hot. Alphas and omegas were always so nosy and inquisitive, a byproduct of being able to smell way too much for your comfort, a fact you and your circle of beta friends never missed a chance to bemoan.

And this was not the first time you’d been told as much, most betas apparently smelling some level of chill and less intrusive than the insistent scents of alphas and omegas. You didn’t exactly understand how something could smell chill, but enough people had said it that you accepted it.

“Well then it’s good I’m not polluting that with other smells,” you said. “Now mind your business.”

Mina’s grin was sharp as she reached over to ladle more of Tetsu’s concoction into your cup, a small revenge. “Fine but keep your options open tonight! I know plenty of nice beta boys I can set you up with—there’s a couple of analysts from Ingenium’s crowd here tonight.”

You nodded, affecting sincerity, although you had absolutely no plan to follow through. You were going to find your agency friends, go ham on some apps, and then head back home just as soon as Mina and Kirishima ended the night the way they usually did—locked mouth to mouth after drinking a little too much, causing a scene.

You waved Mina away, poking your head back out the kitchen door and surveying the rest of the party. Over near the couch, you caught a flash of a couple of your fellow case analysts in conversation with Asui Tsuyu, a beta hero at your agency who you got on well with. Your people exactly.

However, no sooner had you started to push back into the crowd than something slammed into your shoulder, sending you stumbling back into the wall. Your drink splashed right up over your shoulder, cold and biting. You let out a strangled noise, turning your head on impulse and catching a mouthful of hair.

“Oh my god, I am sooo sorry,” a soft voice said. You realized you’d collided with an omega analyst from another Bunkyo agency—a girl you vaguely remembered from a joint case a few years ago. She was small, petite, and delicately pretty in the way of most omegas. And she had also managed to empty nearly the entirety of your cup onto you.

“Shit, shit—I got your shirt wet!” she said, yanking herself back from you. She looked a little glassy-eyed, but genuinely apologetic, and she wiped at your shoulder with her bare hand. Definitely a bit drunk.

“No—it’s fine,” you told her, attempting to duck her hand. “I also didn’t see you!”

The omega girl didn’t look reassured however. She frowned, pausing over you—then suddenly slithered right out of her cardigan, throwing it over your shoulders.

“We’ll hide it like that. Please take it,” she said, her delicate fingers flitting back and forth over your now-covered shoulder, like she still itched to fix something. The cardigan was soft and warm, and even you could tell it smelled good—a soft, powdery, classically omegan scent.

“It’s really fine—” you insisted, immediately shrugging the cardigan back off, though you appreciated the gesture. You glanced down at your shoulder, surveying the damp patch that was slowly soaking closer to your boob. “It’s clear—it will dry in a couple of minutes and no one will be any the wiser. It already stinks like alcohol in here anyway.”

The omega girl hesitated as you handed her sweater back to her. She leaned in to sniff you tentatively. “Are you sure? I really am so sorry. Your mate is going to be so mad, now you can’t really smell you over the vodka unless you get in close—”

You held up a hand, sending her a reassuring smile. “I don’t have a mate, so there’s no problem. I promise.”

You did not add that as a beta, your pool of potential mates was limited to other betas, and that no beta’s sense of smell was enough to get worked up over this. Alphas and omegas tended to forget that not everyone was as sensitive as they were.

She bit her lip, the gesture pretty, but looked somewhat mollified. “You’re sure?” she ventured one last time.

You nodded. “Totally sure. I appreciate the gesture though.”

She nodded, still looking hesitant, and you decided there was only one way to put an end to this.

“Nice to see you, though. Maybe I will catch you around later!” you said, waving her off firmly. You quickly abandoned your now empty cup on a nearby table and turned to head back into the living room. You spotted Tsuyu’s head of dark green hair through the crowd of shoulders, a homing beacon in the dim.

As you charted an unsteady path through the crush of people, you noted several more heroes and analysts from other agencies, including Kaminari Denki and a beaming Midoriya Izuku, crammed into a corner and chatting animatedly to—oh.

Your cheeks flushed. Pro hero Shouto was here.

The other hero stood tall and solemnly handsome across from Midoriya, just as maddeningly gorgeous as always. You, like every other person with working eyeballs, had long nursed a tiny bit of a celebrity crush on him, as he was literally the most beautiful person on earth—a fact evidenced by his now six-year running sweep of Tokyo Beat magazine’s cutest hero award.

In your time at Pink Riot, you’d worked a couple of joint cases with Shouto’s agency and met him a few times in passing. You’d always found him to be a little bit intense, but kind, thoughtful, straightforward, and diligent. He was every bit the reassuring hero the media made him out to be, and even more striking in person. He also always wore scent patches flush at the sides of his neck, concealing what his secondary gender was from prying noses, although you’d always sort of suspected he had to be an omega.

He was tall and solid and strong in the way of most pro heroes. But his features were so finely-wrought, so strangely graceful and elegant for a man, that you would have put significant amounts of money down on his omega status.

Not that it mattered. Betas really only dated betas, and alphas really only omegas, so Shouto’s status wasn’t much to you, regardless of what it was.

You slipped past, averting your eyes, wondering absently if an omega like Todoroki Shouto ever encountered harassment like the victims in your newest case file. Maybe his scent blockers were for this very purpose—hiding his omega status so he didn’t run the risk. You imagined with a face like his, he would be sure to garner migraine-inducing levels of undue interest.

This thought was suddenly arrested, however, when a hand pressed to your chest, shoving you back into the wall you were sidling past.

Your breath wooshed out of your lungs as a strangled “fwuuh” noise escaped you. Your gaze jerked up to find an alpha you somewhat recognized was holding you against the wall, grinning in an incredibly unsettling way.

Fuzzily, you matched his face to one of the techs from the support department, someone you occasionally saw at work functions but never worked directly with. Support interfaced mainly with the heroes, mending their tech, inventing new items, and—if Mina’s complaints were to be believed—running up quite the bill for the agency with their experimentation.

“Can I—help you?” you garbled out, staring the alpha down.

He leaned in, leery, slurring, “What’sa pretty li’l thing like you doin’ here, huh?”

He smelled strongly of Tetsutestu’s horrid concoction, like the alcohol was literally seeping from his pores. You frowned, shifting uncomfortably under his hand. It was large, and too-warm against your shoulder, and the desire to turn and bite it welled up in your mouth.

“Can you get off me?” you asked, grabbing the alpha by the wrist. A support tech though he was, his hold on you was firm, and your grip didn’t dislodge him. He clung to your sweater, his gaze glassy but intense.

He closed his eyes, nose twitching like he was-–ew—like he was scenting you. “Aww come on baby. A li’l omega like you? There’s no need to pr’tend you don’t want this.”

Your brows furrowed, confusion bubbling up inside you. A little omega like you? What the fuck was he talking about? Was he that blasted?

“You have three seconds before I bite you,” you said, certain that would be clear enough, even if he was too drunk to tell you were a beta.

But his hand didn’t move. Instead he laughed, hot and humid and smelling strongly of liquor, and he fumbled with something at his belt.

A hot wave of fear suddenly washed over you, a stab of panic lancing your heart. He wasn’t going to expose himself right here, was he? You pushed back against the wall, feeling entrapped, yanking at his wrist harder to get him off of you.

“I’m not an omega,” you said loudly. “And I’m not interested, now get—”

The alpha’s hand was gone. You blinked, suddenly finding his face missing too, your vision gone entirely gray and strangely…knitted?

“Do not touch her,” a deep voice intoned, and you realized you were staring at a broad back, clad in a handsome gray sweater. You tipped your head back, your gaze fixing on a suspiciously familiar mop of scarlet and white hair.

Shouto. Pro hero Shouto had put himself in between you and the asshole alpha.

A thrill raced down your spine.

“The fuck I won’t,” a snort issued over one of Shouto’s strong shoulders.

There was a small, silent moment where you watched Shouto’s head tilt just the tiniest bit. He didn’t say anything in return—but a sudden, creeping unease slithered over your senses, raising the hair on the back of your neck. An audible hush fell over the people nearest you, though you couldn’t see what exactly was happening, caged between Shouto’s back and the wall.

You could just make out Shouto’s scent patches, perfectly even against his neck like always, and wondered whether they would help—-if the alpha couldn’t smell Shouto was an omega, maybe he thought he would respect his boundaries more?

“Dude—” someone hissed, from somewhere near the alpha, just as Shouto spoke once more.

“You will leave,” he intoned in that deep tone again. His voice was soft, placid—but the feeling of unease grew within you, a strange itch under your skin. You had the sudden urge to flee, but one of Shouto’s hands closed over your wrist, as a cerulean eye caught yours over his shoulder. “You…please stay.”

You could do nothing but nod, your feet practically freezing in place, the desire to obey subsuming your entire brain. What the hell was happening?

As Shouto turned back to face the alpha again, that hunted feeling grew stronger, like there was something in the apartment that you should be very, very wary of. Your throat started to close up, and your breath came a little short.

The room was so suddenly silent that you could hear the nervous shift of the people beyond Shouto, and you caught the sound of the alpha suddenly stumbling back.

“You’re—are you fucking Ordering me?” The alpha asked, but you could hear that he was still backing away.

The question crawled right under your skin along with the unsettled feeling.

An Order. As in, an Alpha Order. From Shouto? Pretty, kind, patient, careful Shouto? Classic omega material Shouto?

Was…using an Order on an alpha, and it was working?

Your head spun with the mismatch between Shouto’s face and the latent command in his tone. It was almost too strange to be contemplated, and yet here it was playing out in front of you.

Shouto, for his part, didn’t bother answering the question. “I believe I asked you to leave,” he said firmly. His voice carried an inflection that sliced through the air like a knife.

“Sorry, Todoroki, he’s super fucking drunk—I’ll get him out of here,” another voice said, one you recognized as a different support tech.

It sounded like he didn’t need to expend the effort, however, as the alpha’s footsteps were already beating a hasty retreat. The other support tech’s footsteps followed, his pace clipped on the hardwood.

As soon as they were out of view, the suffocating feeling all but evaporated. You could almost feel the sigh of relief around the room, and the line of Shouto’s shoulders untensed.

He turned to you slowly, drawing in a deep breath. His normally blank expression had been exchanged for something troubled, his perfect eyebrows knitted in concern, his full mouth pursed up like he’d just let it drop from a snarl.

He blinked down at you for a second, those distinct heterochromatic eyes flicking over you, before you found yourself suddenly crowded back into the corner, your back bumping the wall. Shouto leaned down and gave a delicate sniff at your temple, as if checking your condition.

“Are you alright?” he asked. His voice was still strange, rough with something you couldn’t name.

He was warm where he lingered over you, his shoulders broad enough that they blocked the light and cast falling shadows into the meager space between you. He was near enough that the dip of his sweater collar rasped over your shoulder, sending a swarm of tingles over your skin. You drew in a careful breath, trying to figure out just what the right answer was, coming up with nothing.

Shouto frowned over your lack of a response. His nose pressed right into your hair, and he crowded even closer, like he was trying to find the source of your discomfort—even though he’d just chased that source right through the front door.

“Your scent is difficult to find,” he murmured, his chest expanding and contracting. “It is covered by many things…” He trailed off as he seemed to find it—and then something strange happened—even stranger than the scene with the support tech alpha.

Shouto froze in place, going so unearthly still he might have been transmuted into marble. You heard his breath catch and hold in his lungs, and his fingers came up to grasp your sleeve, clutching you tightly.

You opened your mouth to ask what was wrong when a shudder swept down him, from head to toe. His grip on your wrist tightened for a moment, and a groan bubbled up from somewhere low in his throat.

“Your scent—” he rasped, then cut himself off.

He huffed out a harsh breath instead, stirring your hair, before his face dropped into the cradle of your shoulder. He breathed in, slow, measured, his mouth just barely touching the skin of your throat. You could feel his long, pretty eyelashes flutter against your skin, and the sensation sent shivers down your spine.

Something under your skin shifted in response, then.

To your utter shock, you could feel yourself tilting your head to the side, baring your neck. A strange feeling of malleability settled over you, like your bones had jellified and your muscles had atrophied.

“Shouto—?” you garbled out, unable to articulate any question beyond what the fuck was happening? You knew it had something to do with the way Shouto was most definitely not an omega after all. The thought made your brain fuzz with static.

Pretty, gentle, elegant Todoroki Shouto was an alpha. Kind, placid, beautiful Todoroki Shouto was even some kind of…distressingly strong alpha.

It crossed all the wires in your brain to think of that face possessing that kind of strength. But there was clearly something there. And you were being so weird and embarrassing about it, but you couldn’t have moved, even if you wanted to.

It felt like a short eternity, the time Shouto stood over you like that, his face pressed into your throat, your own throat bared to him. Your heartbeat pounded in your chest, simultaneously hammering a zillion miles a minute, and yet feeling slow, syrupy.

Distantly, you registered the hum of voices in the background, Tetsutetsu trying to rekindle the happy atmosphere. But Shouto was so warm over you, breathing slow and shallow, a tall, strong anchor weighing you against the wall.

It could have been minutes or hours before he finally stepped away. He looked calmer, but a little dazed. You felt the same way, mystified by what had just occurred between you.

His gaze picked over you in some kind of assessment. “You’re well?” he asked carefully. His voice was pitched low.

“Yeah,” you managed, your throat weirdly dry. “Yeah. I—thank you, Shouto.”

Shouto inclined his head in a nod. “You, as well. I don’t usually…I try not to rise to anger. But when alphas try to use their power to—” he cut himself off. His throat bobbed with some emotion you couldn’t name.

“Your scent is….calming to me.”

You nodded. The beta chill thing again, like Mina had said.

“Your friendly neighborhood beta, at your service,” you saluted him, trying to ignore the strange, lingering shiver in your limbs.

A tiny smile quirked the corner of Shouto’s mouth, but his gaze remained fixed on you, almost inhumanly intense.

“That is not quite what I mean,” he said, but did not elaborate. There was something in his voice, in the way he was looking at you that you didn’t understand, but you didn’t know him well enough to try to dig into it.

Instead you just gave him another smile, your face heating as you noticed several people around you were still watching you.

You figured it was probably time to make an escape after that little scene you had just caused, for Shouto’s reputation as well as yours. You didn’t need people thinking Shouto had been scenting you for any reason other than your apparent beta chill pill scent, especially now that people at the party would know he was an alpha.

God, he was an alpha, even with a face like that.

You waved at him, garbling out another, “Well, thanks for the save! I, um, have to be going, but I’ll see you around!” before throwing yourself back through the crowd, your head spinning.

Mina had come out of the kitchen and tried to flag you down as you passed. You waved back at her like you’d misunderstood, quickly fighting your way back to Tetsu’s front door. You felt the weight of dozens of eyes on your back, and the prick of two heterochromatic ones, somehow more certain and weightier than the others. But you didn’t turn around, eager to get out of the crowd, still reeling from what had happened.

You didn’t know how you had been mistaken for an omega by that drunk alpha, and understood even less what had possessed Shouto to sniff you all over like that, embarrassed by how much you had liked it. It most probably had something to do with how inherently non-aggressive beta scents were supposed to be, maybe helping Shouto down from how keyed up he’d been about that other alpha.

But it had still been so embarrassing and strange, the way your head had tipped right back for him, the way your limbs had gone to jelly in his hold. You hoped he’d had a little to drink too or he’d probably realize how weird you were, reacting like that.

Finally, you spilled out of Tetsu’s and into the night, the evening air cool on your heated skin. The phantom touch of Shouto’s mouth still lingered on your throat, warm and disconcerting.

You beelined for home, your head swimming. You wondered just how long it would take you to forget how very strange this evening had been.

not your baby

warnings/tags: minors DNI, f. reader, DUB-CON/NON-CON, abo verse, yandere!Oliver (more like he's unsettling but yk), omega!Oliver, omega!reader, obsessive behavior, forced intimacy, manipulation, drugging, heat manipulation, set in the EPL, mentions of hair being run through (brief), appearances from other bllk boys, implied previous isagi x reader but they're platonic at the time of the fic, I'm still finding my footing on Oliver's characterization sorry about him LMFAO, these tags are not exhaustive word count: 13.4k summary: We are assigned roles but those are not without caveats. As predators cannot exist without prey, Oliver is learning he cannot exist without you.

Yoichi calls you in the middle of the day. 

You’ve been staring at your code for the past two hours trying to figure out where it all went wrong so at first, his call is a welcome reprieve. Then he starts talking. 

“Rin broke my nose.” 

“On or off the field?”

“Off,” comes his disgruntled response. There’s a cacophony of noise in the background and you hear Yoichi hiss as someone presumably touches his nose. “Can you bring me one of my scent blockers?” 

You quickly glance at your code and decide to cut your losses and shut down your computer. If it hasn’t been figured out by now, it won’t be figured out for a while. “Yeah. I’ll be there in twenty.” 

You head over to his room and make a beeline for his bathroom. You rifle through his drawers until you find his scent blockers. He asked for one but you pocket the whole box. 

It takes you longer than twenty minutes to get to the stadium due to traffic but you don’t rush as you walk in through the back. He won’t be able to play regardless.

A staff member leads you to the locker room and after a quick discussion with the assistant coach, she waves you in. 

You make eye contact with Yoichi immediately, wincing at the dried blood on his lips and chin. You hold the box up wordlessly as you go to him, already pulling your sleeves over your hand to wipe at his face. 

“They didn’t want to clean you up?” you ask, scrunching your nose as your sleeve drags across his skin.

“Wouldn’t let them,” he says moodily. He’s trying not to glower at Rin who is making a halfhearted attempt at remorse by standing in the vicinity of Yoichi. Rin shuffles to the side awkwardly when you give him your full attention. His pupils are blown out and his fingers tremble with his annoyance. He’s clearly still pissed at Yoichi but your arrival has forced him to act like a respectable alpha. And with the way he’s cautiously eyeing you, he probably fears triggering an early heat with how intense his pre-rut is. 

The smell of it makes your stomach curdle. 

You keep yourself from rolling your eyes in front of him. The education in every country is so bad it would be laughable if it didn’t cause such disturbances in general society.

“You okay?” 

Rin’s surprised your question is aimed at him. “Yeah.”

“Rin’s love language is violence,” a deep voice teases, looping an arm around Rin’s shoulders. He tries to shake it off but the guy adds some weight to his hold and forces Rin to take it. His two toned eyes flick over to you, heavily-lidded with interest. It takes you a moment to connect the dots. 

Oliver Aiku. Arsenal’s captain along with the national team of Japan. He’s an enigma to you out of all of Yoichi’s teammates. 

Stupidly, all that crosses your mind upon seeing him is that he’s tall. 

You have known this. Centre-backs are known for their height and strength. And yet, you are still caught off guard. 

His smell is distinctly omega but his stature implies an alpha nature. He’s large and imposing, taking up more room than any omega you have ever met. He notices the tilt of your head. Tension briefly lines his shoulders but he forces a nonchalance to his stance. He brings his nose upwards and smells you. Even from this distance, you can see how his focus sharpens and his posture becomes more welcoming, a camaraderie solidifying between the two of you amongst all these alphas and betas.

If possible, his smile widens when he notices what you’ve given Yoichi. 

You grimace at the dried blood now speckling your shirt. “You must love Yoichi a lot then.” 

“Too much one could say,” Oliver says, earning an attempt at an elbow from Rin. 

“Did they fit or is your nose too swollen?” you ask, bending down to look at Yoichi’s nose. They set the break though it still trickles with some blood.

He shakes his head. “It’s too swollen,” he says, wincing as he hands you the bloodied scent blocker. 

Oliver intercepts you, tossing the half-used scent blocker to an open locker. It takes more of your focus than you will ever admit to not shy away from him. You know he’s an omega but you can’t shake off how his alpha-like appearance unnerves you. Surreptitiously, he wipes his fingers on Rin. “You came quick,” he says, looking down at you. Somehow, you get the impression you’ve let him down.

“I live to serve him,” you say seriously, pointing at Yoichi.

Yoichi stutters for a second and then groans. “Shut up,” he whines, rubbing his temples. “Did you drive here?” 

You twirl your keys around your finger. “Unfortunately.” 

“I’ll go with you. My head’s killing me.” He shoots a glare at Rin who raises his eyebrows at him.

“Did they check if you have a concussion already?” 

“Yoichi’s too hard-headed for a concussion,” Oliver says. But Yoichi will do a lot for game time and you don’t know if he let them check him probably so you can’t trust his words if Oliver didn’t oversee the checkup. You nudge Yoichi insistently. 

“They looked over him. He’s good to go. Except for the, you know, broken nose,” Oliver reassures you. You give him a brief dip of your chin before focusing back on Yoichi.  

“Are they going to give you the black mask?” 

An excited light enters Yoichi’s eyes. “I hope so. That’d be sick.” 

“Maybe you’ll play better and have the fans wish you always had a broken nose,” you muse, grabbing his jaw and moving his head side to side. It’s going to be a shame when he covers his face. 

“Think they’ll give me a nickname?” 

“Egoist ain’t enough for you?” Oliver says, hands on his hips. Flutters erupt in your stomach. He’s uncomfortably good looking, you realize. The sort where self-consciousness begins to take shape. You leave it be. After all, you’ll either see Oliver enough to get used of his face or you’ll see him so infrequently, the twinge in your gut will be far and between. 

-

It takes a few weeks for you to come to the conclusion that Oliver is kind of an asshole. 

He’s friendly enough, more so than most people if you look at him objectively. But still, he’s an asshole nonetheless. 

You think you’d like him more if he didn’t make your skin crawl. 

Oliver introduces you to the rest of the team and their friends as Yoichi is making his way towards you from the entrance of the coach’s house. Oliver recites your name with a lazy grin and warns them to treat you nicely. You wave shyly at the amount of eyes trained on you, ready to sit down when Oliver continues. 

“Though, imagine our surprise when Yo-chan,” you mouth the nickname, endeared, “Said he was moving in with a friend.” 

The almost explicit implication doesn’t match the lack of curiosity in Oliver’s expression. But you can feel how the rest of Yoichi’s teammates wait with a baited breath for the confirmation of what they suspected. 

You don’t bother to defend you or Yoichi. Their opinions are already set. 

“It’s always good to have a familiar face whenever you’re far from home.” Your smile is strained. 

“That is true,” he agrees. He elongates the last word as if he’ll keep going and your stomach sinks at the thought. You don’t owe anyone an explanation for why an alpha and omega live together without being a bonded pair. 

Yet, Oliver backs off immediately. (His interest only ran as far as he deemed necessary for his team to have.) He seems to have only asked for the sake of the rest of the team and their loved ones. You marvel at how easily he can control the atmosphere and settle any doubts they may have had towards Yoichi. It isn’t common to see an unpaired alpha and omega in such close quarters after all. 

“He’s nice, right?” Yoichi mutters in your ear, having finally made it to you. He’s too quiet for anyone other than you but Oliver shifts as if he can sense the compliment. His scent is affable and he sends a quick wink aimed in your direction. He’s got the type of charisma that has people drifting towards him without thought but a firmness that keeps others from coming too close. 

And yet, something in your gut itches. 

“I guess,” you say eventually. You look at Yoichi’s blue eyes and see the blind trust he holds towards his captain and you amend your statement. “He’s good for the team. A proper captain.”  

“Our final wall,” Yoichi says proudly. 

You don’t frown necessarily but it’s something close. “Is that his nickname?” 

“Yeah. I mean unofficially. The god snake is his other one.” 

Creativity is left to the midfielders it seems. “Start with that one. The final wall sounds stupid,” you advise. 

“You don’t think it sounds sick?” 

“He’s a defender so it’s kind of a given, no?” 

He considers this. “I guess. It’s still cool though. Especially considering he’s an—” Yoichi’s mouth shuts. 

You brush off the aborted comment immediately. “They usually play midfield,” you hum, regarding the nickname in a different light at the reminder. It’s hard to reconcile he isn’t an alpha given how imposing he is. You sound like a broken record in your own mind for having to be reminded of his secondary gender. That nickname has probably bolstered his image more than any other nickname could have in his position. “Fine. It is a cool nickname then.” Begrudgingly so. 

“See? Oliver is cool. He was so intense during that U-20 game.” 

“He played?” Yoichi’s made you watch the game a couple of times but most of the guys are a blur in your mind. “Did Sae involve him in any plays?” 

Yoichi cuts you an unimpressed look. “Sae wasn’t the only player there.” 

Sae was certainly the prettiest, however. 

“He was the only omega,” you point out and then correct yourself, “Or so I thought.” 

“I told you about Oliver!”

“Yeah but I didn’t know you meant him.” You jerk your thumb in Oliver’s general direction. “My bad.”

Yoichi stares at you and then laughs, shaking his head. “I think your nickname would’ve been ego breaker.” 

“That’s so lame.” 

He chuckles, steering you towards the snack table. “Sorry, I was late. Traffic got my ass.” 

“What did coach have to say about that?”

Yoichi winces. “I have to run twenty extra laps next practice.”

“He’s intense.”

“You don’t even know the half of it.” 

The party goes on and Yoichi leads you around. It’s clear to see he’s found a place in this team already. Joy radiates off of him as he introduces you to more of his teammates and coaching staff. You’re met with warm welcomes despite the somewhat frosty beginning. It takes a few teammates for you to find your footing and be able to joke around with Yoichi properly. After some time, he’s whisked away. There’s an apologetic pat on your back before you’re left to your own devices. With your skin prickling with self-consciousness, you sit on the couch and try not to look as out of place as you are. You’re replying to a text when you feel the couch dip beside you. A familiar scent tickles your nose. 

“Yoichi abandoned you?” Oliver doesn’t give you a chance to respond before saying, “First, he’s late. And now he’s leaving you to the wolves.”  He whistles. “That’s two strikes.” 

Your tongue presses against the back of your teeth. Your irritation sparks but you douse it. He’s only making conversation, that’s all. “Three.” You hold up said amount of fingers. “He forgot to bring the wine.” 

“Coach isn’t impressed by stuff like that,” he says and then grimaces. “Believe me. Some of the kids have tried.” 

He’s not that much older than the rest of the squad but you bite back your smile. You incline your head in agreement. “But his wife would appreciate it.”

“Schmoozer, eh?” 

“What can I say? I love to see beautiful women smile.” 

That gets a proper laugh out of him. “Yeah, alright.” 

Silence lapses between you two yet you don’t try to break it. You’d rather Oliver find someone else to talk to especially if this is for pity.

“You enjoying the party?” He shifts so the top half of his body is facing you. Something gleams in his eyes. “Did Yoichi send you that video? The one of him with the bicycle kick?” 

“Oh yeah! He did. Did he show you it yet?” 

Oliver shakes his head, earnestly looking at you. Immediately you start scrolling through your messages with Yoichi. He’s sent you countless soccer videos alongside mini vlogs of his training so it takes you longer to search for the particular one Oliver is asking about. He sits closer to you, thighs spread enough to encroach onto your space. His shoulder leans into you as he angles his head to look at your phone.

“Hm? Is that it?” he asks, pointing at the video on screen. A video that is clearly not the one of Yoichi he was asking about. 

You’re overly conscious of the body heat that is radiating off of him. He’s so close you don’t want to move a muscle in fear of touching him more. 

“Give me a second,” you say, trying to lean away in a way that doesn’t look obvious. But he follows you further into your space, going as far as to lean his head down close enough to almost rest his chin on your shoulder. 

“Hi. Sorry to interrupt.” You look up to see a woman shifting on her feet. She sniffs the air delicately, a pleased little smile dimpling her cheek. You go a little slack jawed at her beauty. But your interest doesn’t matter as her eyes are not on you. 

You inhale softly. Beta. 

Risking a peek at Oliver, you see him smile an easy smile at her. There’s a certain amount of unspoken charm to him now, exceeding his normal amount. His posture shifts and you realize this is what Oliver looks like when he knows someone’s interested in him. His vested interest hasn’t been triggered yet but he knows how to play the game. And you suppose from your limited knowledge of him, this is the part he enjoys the most.

You don’t want to stick around for it. You don’t bother with a proper goodbye, not with the way she hesitates to continue talking to Oliver with you still there. 

Yoichi is still with Hiori so you make an escape to the very nice patio you could never afford in this lifetime. Surprisingly, there is no one else out here. 

Relief sags your shoulders. The air is balmy and weighted as if to remind you of how hard this all really is. Everything about London is so different you feel like a fish out of water. It’s been a few weeks but you are no closer to adapting to this environment than you were when you first step foot in this city. Yoichi has more friends than you realized within the English league. What are you even doing here? 

“Fuck,” you mutter. You should’ve told Yoichi you’d come until he adjusted to London rather than move in with him. 

You turn to see if Oliver’s made any progress with that beta. He’s smiling at her indulgently, head tilted as if he’s listening intently. But his eyes keep sliding towards your direction and his placid smile twitches each time he does so.

You bite on your cheek. He’s such a strange man. It’s a wonder Yoichi has him so figured out because you cannot get a grasp on him. And you keep failing whatever tests he’s concocted in his mind and it’s driving you up a wall calculating your words the way you are.

You scroll through your phone for a lack of something better to do, praying Yoichi puts you out of your misery and tells you he’s ready to go home. 

“Oh.”

Flinching so hard you nearly toss your phone onto the ground, you whip around at the voice. It’s Rin. 

He’s schooled his face into something neutral. He shuffles backwards and then decides you don’t own the patio and comes closer. Rin doesn’t stand by you but he lingers around you politely. It’s so reminiscent to how he acted when he broke Yoichi’s all those weeks ago you have to laugh. 

Your throaty laugh startles him enough to narrow his eyes suspiciously at you. “I don’t bite,” you say. 

He weighs the choices you’ve put into his hands and then faces you. “I know.” 

“Hi Rin,” you say, enunciating the two syllables expectantly. 

He repeats after you. “How are you?” His arms are crossed over his chest. The corner of your mouth twitches. Oh, it’s such a burden for him to make small talk. 

“I’m a little stressed out but you know.” By the blank look that enters his eyes, he doesn’t. Though, while it may be mean to think, Rin tends to have an empty look on his face whenever soccer isn’t involved. “How are you?”

“Fine.” 

Silence fills the space between you two and after a while, Rin begins to face forward but you won’t let him off that easy. 

“So you’re on loan?” you prompt, earning back Rin’s attention. 

He nods. His lips thin as if he’s pouting but trying to hide it. “Sae figured I’d have an easier time grasping this system first and then playing for Real Madrid and coach agreed.” He tips his head upwards so he’s looking at the dark night sky. “And here I am.” 

“Has it been good so far?” 

The loan system is unfamiliar despite Yoichi explaining it to you every time you ask. You can’t wrap your head around playing somewhere for a season and then coming back to your original team. Is there no fear of swapping hidden tactics? Or leaking locker room exclusive secrets? Or worse yet, falling in love with a team you know you are destined to be at for only a short amount of time? 

“I like here. Not more than I like it at Real Madrid but it’s fine,” he says.

“Is it for the full season or…?”

He drops his arms from their crossed state. A brief stint of regret makes his lips purse as he says, “Full season. Seemed stupid to go for only a couple months.” 

If Rin hates it here, these next seven months will be hell. But if he falls in love with Arsenal, the end of the season will be brutal. You don’t think you could handle the uncertainty. 

“That’s tough.” 

“If it’s what it’ll take to be the best, I don’t care.” 

You don’t know how Yoichi made it out of Blue Lock with enough of his sanity intact to masquerade as a functioning human being if this type of person is who he was surrounded with for months on end. You don’t doubt Ron’s love for soccer but Yoichi’s particular brand of intensity has you wondering if Rin will be devoured in a different way this time around. 

So you pivot. “Your rut go okay?”

From Yoichi you know Rin had to go on a stronger suppressant. The stresses of moving teams and subsequently countries shifted his hormones enough to make him more susceptible to his pre-rut. Yoichi immediately started taking a higher dosage to mitigate a similar reaction and he’s been grumpy as a side effect. Rin is grumpy as his default so you can’t tell if anything has changed for him. 

Rin is quiet for long enough you begin to wonder if you overstepped. Then he says, “It was fine. Standard.” 

“I hope Yoichi’s is standard,” you mutter under your breath. You’re forcing him to do his own laundry otherwise. 

“You take care of Yoichi during his?” Rin’s curiosity is mild but you’ve captured his full attention. 

This must be payback for your earlier question. “Not anymore. It’s easier if we don’t blur those lines.” You leave it at that. 

But it piques Rin’s interest further. Unconsciously, he leans towards you. “So you go to another alpha during your heat then?” 

That makes your eyebrows raise. There’s nothing suggestive other than his wording but you take advantage nonetheless. 

“Why? You offering?” you tease, laughing when Rin tenses up. 

“I wouldn’t—shut up,” he snaps, turning away from you. But you don’t miss the way his ears redden with his newly cut hair giving way to the sight. You laugh harder. He set himself up.

“Relax, you baby. I don’t even like alphas,” you say. 

“You don’t?” He doesn’t mean to sound like he’s accusing you of lying but distrust lies heavily between those two words. 

It curbs your good mood. “Would you?” 

“But biologically—” 

“Technology’s advanced these days,” you cut in sharply. He’s young but not so young to be this ignorant. “Just because something is idealized doesn’t mean it’s the only correct way to deal with a heat.” 

A charged quiet lies between you two. And then, “You’re right. I didn’t mean it that way but I guess there’s no other way it could be meant if I say it like that.” 

You loose a breath. “It’s fine.” And then you peek at him. An admonished Rin is a little too irresistible even for you. “But if you are offering…”

He turns back around with a glare. “Don’t.” 

You hold your hands up, a grin tugging at your mouth. “I’m just saying I wouldn’t mind,” you sing, faking a step back when Rin’s glare intensifies. 

“Wouldn’t mind what?” 

You both twist at the familiar voice. Oliver ducks his head underneath the door frame as he steps onto the patio. He’s got an impersonal smile you don’t think he realizes you can pick up on spread across his mouth. 

“Rin as my heat partner.” “Nothing.” 

If looks could kill, Rin would have set you on fire right about now. 

“Okay, I’ll stop.” You yield. No wonder Sae can’t stop pushing Rin’s buttons. If he looks this cute with just a little poking, you think you’d do the same. 

You go to share a teasing look with Oliver but to your surprise, he looks thrown off. He recovers quickly, that same impersonal smile pulling at the corners of his lips again, and he says, “Yo-chan’s looking for you, Rin.” 

Oliver notices your slight pout and smirks a bit. “Guess you’re stuck here then.” 

After a moment of staring, Rin nods at you guys before heading back into the house. He looks back, a small wrinkles between his brows before he shakes it off and disappears into the living room. You’ll give Yoichi some more time before you head out. You don’t think you can last much longer trying to scramble for conversation topics.

“Rin would be an awful heat partner,” Oliver says suddenly. “Selfish.” 

The sudden comment forces you to let out a flabbergasted laugh. “And you aren’t?” Your eyes widen at the slip of tongue. That is not at all what you would have said if you actually too more than a second to think. “Sor-”

“I’m not,” he says after a moment. He’s not offended so his tone is very matter-of-fact. “I could show you if you want.” 

His voice is lined with just the right amount of flirtatious to not make you feel stupid if you do say yes. But you can’t take a guy like Oliver seriously. His reputation precedes him and you’d rather go with what you’ve heard around than what you’ve heard from his friends when it comes to this aspect of his life. Not that Yoichi spends an incredible amount of time explaining those specific details but Yoichi is privy to an Oliver most do not get to know, you included thus far. 

“Pass.”

“Oh come on, baby. I could show you a good time,” he says almost reflexively. The flirtatious note in his voice gives way to joking which you appreciate much more. 

Though, the endearment tickles the wrong part of your brain. And your mistake is you don’t nip it in the bud immediately. He notices the way your shoulders raise up to your ears a bit at the pet name. And his smile broadens. 

“Not your baby,” you reprimand. “What did Yoichi need Rin for anyway?” 

Oliver blinks and then grins conspiratorially. “He didn’t. You just looked like you were giving Rin a hard time.” At your disbelieving raised eyebrows, he pats his chest. “I have a bleeding heart.” 

He makes you giggle. It’s awful. And what he said is not even particularly funny. You just like the idea of Oliver coming to save Rin because you know Rin would rather eat his own foot than have someone swoop in to help him out. 

“Captain my captain,” you recite mockingly, saluting him with two fingers. “It’s cute they all call you that.” 

Oliver sucks in his cheek. “You think so?” 

The respect Oliver has earned from his team is admirable considering how young he and the squad are. The older members defer to him as well without resentment, content to shuffle the responsibility over to him. “Yeah.” 

He brings his hands up to rest on the back of his head. He’s so large his elbows dip into your space but only slightly so you don’t back away. The sleeve of his shirt tightens underneath the swell of muscle, seams straining. You quickly divert your attention to his face. Luckily, he’s focused on the sky, lip tucked underneath his teeth. He makes a sound of agreement but it lacks any substance. 

“You don’t think so?” You can’t help to ask. 

“No, it is nice,” he agrees, though he opts to not address the choice of word you used to describe it. His voices deepens into something wistful. “You just reminded me of something.” 

You don’t ask for clarification and he doesn’t offer it. You don’t like him anymore than you did at the beginning of the night but you think you are seeing what it is Yoichi is talking about when it comes to Oliver.  

-

Weeks pass and you see Oliver more often than you think you should. 

You slip out of your shoes, nose wrinkling at the vaguely familiar scent floating from the living room. Peeking your head around the corner, you see a mop of dark hair and then you see the body it’s connected to. 

Oliver sits languidly on your couch with his shirt half up his body. You eye the curves of his stomach and waist getting a grip on yourself and put your shoes in their proper place. 

“Hey Oliver,” you say once you step into the living room. 

He doesn’t startle, clearly having smelled you as soon as you walked in, and gives you an indulgent smile. His clean scent wraps around you in some semblance of comfort but it only serves to make your skin crawl at the casual intimacy he’s thrust upon you. But you work to control your own reaction, careful to keep your own scent from becoming bitter through sheer will alone. “Hope it’s cool Yoichi let me have the code,” he says.

Your eye just about twitches. Omegas are not plentiful so it makes sense why Yoichi assumes you would be okay with a fellow one flitting in and out of your home if he feels comfortable enough with Oliver. But the lack of heads up irks you. You also understand he feels a sort of kinship to Oliver, born from his Blue Lock game against him all those years ago, and assumes you won’t make a fuss as you aren’t ought to do. 

Your tuck your bottom lip under your teeth, worrying the skin. Yoichi would be right to think that. You trust his instincts, but you trust your gut as well. And you don’t trust Oliver for some inexplicable reason. 

“I mean, you have it now, so,” you shrug, neither an agreement or accusation. 

He watches you and then he nods good-naturedly. “He said he’s gonna be late for dinner. Should we order something?” 

Your teeth bite down harder on your skin. So he won’t be leaving any time soon. Fantastic. 

“There’s a pho place down the road if you’re fine with that?” you offer hesitantly, hoping it’s a food he hates. 

His smile widens enough to show his top row of teeth. “Sounds good. Let me know the name and I’ll order. My treat,” he adds unnecessarily.

It takes half an hour for the order to come. Oliver spends it trying to sneakily get you to join him on the couch to watch some reality show he’s been into lately. He’s frustrated with your denials by the time you have the bag in your hand. You cut him some slack and bring the food to the living room. Only then do you take a seat on the couch at a casual distance from him, curling up your legs and setting your pho on your lap. 

“You find a heat center yet?” Oliver asks, sucking up some noodles. 

You tap the container with your nails and then shake your head. Heat centers aren’t your preference and you say as such. Unlike Rin, he’s a fellow omega so you feel less guarded telling him this not-quite taboo. 

He looks a little surprised. “You handle them yourself?” 

Shrugging, you say, “Mine are pretty mild so there’s no need. If it gets really bad, Yoichi helps out but,” and you trail off, embarrassed you shared so much so without thinking. Aiming to shift the topic, you ask, “Do you usually use heat center?” 

He chuckles and steals a piece of beef out of your bowl. Through a swallow, he says, “Nah, not really. We have mandated heats during the season so there’s no need. Yoichi said yours were pretty irregular so I was just wondering.” 

You hide your grimace behind a spoonful of broth. Leave it to Yoichi to leave your personal business on the table. “Is it tough having your heats regulated like that?” 

Oliver chews thoughtfully. From Yoichi you know that alphas can keep playing well into pre-rut. The idea is that the quickness to aggression stemming from the hormonal imbalance will aid in their game. The safety concerns do not matter as long as the league gets an explosive game out of the thinning patience of their alpha players and so certain precautions have to be exerted by the players rather than be regulated by the league. Yoichi tends to play with a mild scent blocker even at the cost of it affecting some of his playing style. One three-match ban was enough to keep him corralled. 

There are so few known omegas in all of soccer, and especially in the English league, that you don’t think there are any leniencies when it comes to heats. A low grade preheat forced your old company to send you home in fear of inciting the alphas so you can’t imagine the league handles heats any better. 

“It’s necessary,” he says finally, shrugging. “I guess I’ll find out if it was a bad call in a couple years.” 

In professions like his, mandatory heats are a necessity though there isn’t much research to support they aren’t harmful. Summer break is when they’re allowed off whatever medications their medical team has deemed needed but those pitiful thirteen weeks aren’t enough to regulate their hormones. 

You’d feel worse for him if he wasn’t getting paid millions to kick a ball around a field. 

“That sucks,” you say but not without empathy.

“Could be worse. They could’ve banned us outright.”

It was only in the last twenty years omegas were publicized in the athletic world. Oliver is one of few who hasn’t hidden their secondary gender behind one more favorable. 

“Could be better,” you sigh, pushing your bowl towards Oliver. You hate that he has to take his wins where he can scavenge them. “I guess having a schedule for them can be kinda nice,” you admit begrudgingly. Only in recent years have your heats stabilized enough to be expected at a similar time every two months. 

“It makes life easier,” he agrees. Oliver abandons his empty bowl for yours. You will never have to worry about leftovers so long as you remain surrounded by professional soccer players. 

“Mine used to be so irregular and so intense. It’s insane they let alphas play almost to their rut if those ruts are anything like what my heats used to be,” you say, leaning back on the couch. The league would rather be demolished than lose money in the name of player safety. You mentally shake your head. Those sick bastards. 

Oliver chews on his food. He swallows and then says casually, “If you ever need a partner, just let me know.” 

You’re so stunned you can’t speak. There’s a dry patch where your voice should be. He goes on, shifting his position to face you. “Doesn’t matter when. Promise.” 

When he moves closer, the room feels terribly small as if dwarfed by this abrupt unsettling intimacy. He only needs to put his hand on the other side of your waist to trap you and it twitches as if predicting your train of thought. You wish he wouldn’t reach out his hand like that.

The front door bangs against the wall. You immediately jump off of the couch, uncaring of the bean sprouts you spill. Oliver’s hand drops atop of the blanket. 

“You won’t believe what coach had me doing,” Yoichi whines, hand braced on the wall as he unties his shoes. 

“What did he do?”

Yoichi launches into his story, scarfing down the pho in between complaints while you listen intently. His eyes bore into the side of your head when Yoichi’s attention drifts to the TV as he talks. 

You don’t speak to Oliver for the rest of the night.

-

“Oliver comes over a lot,” you say unprompted. 

Yoichi’s deciding between shin guards so it takes him a second to process what you said. He continues weighing each shin guard in his hand but glances at you, mouth turning up at the corner sheepishly. “Yeah.”

“You know, just because we’re omegas, doesn’t mean we’re gonna get along,” you say to Yoichi with a little more sharpness than is warranted. You close your eyes, wishing you could better keep yourself from taking your frayed nerves out on him.   

His gaze drops to the ground and he nods. “I know,” he says, stamping down on his defensiveness. “I just thought it’d be nice if you had another omega around. There’s not many in the league and you don’t know anyone here.” He scuffs at the ground with his cleats. “I don’t want you to be lonely.” 

Sticky affection clogs your throat for a moment. “I’m not lonely,” you grumble. But Yoichi sees right through you and reaches out to squeeze your hand. “I have you,” you insist. 

“You do. But you should also have someone you can rely on that understands what I don’t.” He ducks his head sheepishly. “Oliver’s the one who told me to put that essential oil in your bath to help with your,” he motions towards your lower belly, “You know.” Yoichi’s been around the block enough to not be embarrassed but the reminder of how he ended up helping you out makes the both of you look to the side. 

Whatever it was Oliver told Yoichi to mix into your bath did help tremendously even if it made you lightheaded with desire. You should thank him next time. “You’re right, I’m just being annoying.” Then you point at him. “He should start paying rent since he’s here all the time.” 

“You don’t pay rent.”

“Do I make millions for playing with balls?” you point out, sticking out your tongue. 

“You know I’m too dumb to do anything but kick a ball around,” he says, tucking his shinguard into his socks. 

You mutter, “I’ve met some of your teammates. You are the last one I’d be worried about if you had a different career, believe me.” 

He grins at you. “Good thing they’re pretty too, huh?” 

“Beauty, brains, and brawn cannot all exist at once. You gotta pick two.” 

“And your diagnosis for Rin?” 

Your answer is instant. “Beauty.”

“Hiori?” 

“Beauty and brains.” 

“Oliver?” he teases. 

“I plead the fifth.” 

“That’s such a cop out.” 

-

It’s the third time Yoichi’s late from work. 

Your nose stings from the cold air. Last time, Hiori kept you company while you waited. Out of Yoichi’s teammates so far, Hiori has been the one you’ve taken an instant liking to. You’re hoping he’s stayed after again but with your luck, you should expect the worse of two evils. 

Oliver tucks his phone into his pocket once he makes eye contact and begins to jog over to you. You quicken your pace to meet him in the middle, a question on the tip of your tongue he answers within the second you’re in earshot. 

“Coach is talking to Yo-chan.” 

“Ah,” you say, slowing to a stop in front of him. “I’ll wait for him then.” 

“I’ll take you home. We can get dinner while we’re at it,” Oliver says easily. 

You look towards the stadium doors, a refusal on your lips when Oliver gets one hand on your shoulder and one on the small of your back and spins you around. “It’s going to take a while and he said to tell you to not wait up.” 

The obscenely casual touch sends goosebumps down your arms. The sleeves of your shirt scratch against the sensitized skin and you shy away from Oliver. He pauses when he notices you curl into yourself but he doesn’t take his hands off of you right away. His palm slides off of you slowly and then he brings his gloves to his teeth, pulling them off by the finger. He bends down until he’s eye level with you. He peers at your face with a strange look. “Your eyes are red.” He points at them and then lays his hand flat against your forehead. “And you’re warm,” he says to himself. 

“Am I?” you ask, bewildered. Your cheeks felt a little flushed earlier but you figured it was because you put too many layers on. You haven’t quite figured out how to manage the London weather yet. 

Then he leans towards your neck, sniffing so close to you the tip of his nose caresses your pulse. Your heart jumps at the barely there contact but Oliver is already straightening up before you can scold him. 

“I thought your heat wasn’t till the end of the month?” 

“Huh?”

He sniffs the air again, face scrunching up. “You smell like preheat. It’s really faint but,” he says, confused, “Isn’t it too early?” 

“Why do you know when my heat is supposed to be?” you ask suspiciously. You make yourself scarce whenever your heat approaches seeing as it can vary on the exact day. Some months, you even miss your supposed scheduled time by a week or two. Yoichi is one of a handful of people you allow around you when you’re more than suspecting of it coming up. A misplaced alpha can send you from a manageable state to something unbearable in a split second. 

“Yoichi,” he says obviously. “He told me to keep an eye on you at the end of every month just in case.” 

Your puckered mouth softens. While invasive and inconsiderate of your comfort, Yoichi is well-intentioned. 

“I don’t feel anything,” you say, puzzled. Usually, there would be some discomfort between your legs and a noticeable ache in your lower back. But you feel remarkably fine if only a bit warmer than normal now that he’s mentioned it. “It’s probably something else.”

“No, it’s not,” Oliver says assuredly. His tone is final. “I can smell it.”

“Yeah, but you could also be smelling one that’s a week or two away.” You’re almost certain you are the only other omega Oliver interacts with on a regular basis so it’s not surprise he’s especially attuned to you. Though, you should give Oliver more credit for picking up on the slight shift of your scent given omegas are sensitive towards any minute changes in another omega. The confirmation of it is alarming however. Perhaps Oliver staying over so often and surrounding himself with your scent has signaled something to him. 

He gives you a disbelieving frown. “If you say so. I think I have some stuff that helps keep it at bay.” He adjusts his duffel bag to pick through the pockets. Within moments, he produces a small pill bottle. He shakes it at you. “This will lessen the symptoms.” Digging through another pocket, he sucks at his teeth when he finds it empty. “I have one that delays it but I forgot it at home.” 

Having taken the orange pill bottle from him, you roll it around in your hand. The pills are small, white, and harmless looking. Curiously, the label is blacked out. The cap is marked off with a green stripe but there is nothing to indicate what he’s given you is what he says it is. 

“Do you think I’m stupid?” 

Oliver freezes at the accusation. Genuine insult creases his mouth into a line. “What?”

You shove the bottle back into his duffel bag. A laugh catches in the back of your throat at his bafflement. You’re the one who’s baffled. “I’m not gonna take some random pills. You don’t even have these labeled.” 

“Why the fuck would I lie to you?” He’s at a loss, glancing from you to the pocket you slipped the bottle back into. “What the fuck? These are my travel pills. We have to have them unlabeled in case I lose them.” Your suspicion doesn’t lessen so he relents. “Fine. Come over and I’ll show you what they are so you can look them up.” 

“‘Preciate it but I’ll pass.” 

You think he would be less shocked if you outright slapped him than he is at your adamant refusal. His jaw is ajar. “Dude, I wouldn’t—we’re both omegas. Why would I—” Oliver stalls, unable to finish a thought.

“I’m not saying you are trying to do anything. Besides, those probably won’t work on me like they’re supposed to.” 

“But you’re not not saying that. You’re implying it.”

Anything that will come out of your mouth will make the situation worse so you stay silent. And it’s silence that follows you home as you drive back alone. 

-

You’re sidelined for six days by an unexpected heat. It’s one that knocks you on your ass. Yoichi is concerned enough to actually offer taking off from training for a day or two to help you out. You shoot him down instantly. His position in the starting eleven is still up in the air and like hell you’ll let your heat keep him from securing his spot.

But then it happens again. Instead of your usual two month break between heats, you find yourself in the same position a mere four weeks later. Rather than you’re normal four days, your heat has now lengthened to last the full week. The effect on your body is immediate. It takes you a while to recover from the unforeseen shift in your heat cycle. 

Yoichi puts a hand on your forehead worriedly. You sigh as coolness emanates from his palm. “You’ve been getting sick more often since we moved here,” he says, frowning. 

Your eyes flutter shut and you press your forehead a little more insistently to his hand. He lets out an amused puff of air and starts running his hand through your hair, scratching at your scalp. “My hormones have been so sensitive lately,” you say sleepily. “They’re like a live wire.”

His hand pauses. “Do you think it’s because,” and he swallows thickly, “There are not a lot of omegas here?” 

You open your eyes to level him with a scathing look. “I have friends outside of you, you know.” You wrangled your anxiety into something manageable and found some omega friends to commiserate with when life in London got too much. They were soothing company but did nothing to worsen nor alleviate your fluctuating hormones so you suspect the fault must lie with you. “It’s gotta be something else. Stress probably.” You heave out a weighted breath. 

Yoichi clicks his tongue. “I don’t know,” he trails off, “You weren’t like this when we were in Germany.” You hear his unspoken worry. You had even less of a support system there.

“Don’t worry about it,” you say dismissively. “I’ll probably be back to normal in a couple months. Remember how long it took me to be normal after I got off of birth control?” 

Yoichi makes a face at the reminder. “Shit, yeah, that was awful.” 

“I’ll be fineeee. No need to worry your pretty little head.” 

He goes back to scratching your scalp. “Look, I don’t want to leave you alone, especially since I’ll be having to fly back and forth for a while. Oliver’s injured so he’s out for a couple weeks. I can ask him to check up on you.” 

Your answer is a resounding, “No.”

He frowns. “I thought you guys got along.”

You have skirted around telling him how pissed off Oliver has been since you last saw him.You aren’t quite ready to admit you did more than wound his pride, especially to Yoichi. He won’t approve of your scathing distrust for his captain given how unwarranted it seems to an outsider. “Doesn’t mean I want him taking care of me.” 

He kisses his teeth. “Seriously? He’s probably better company than I am for this sort of thing.” 

As much as his insistence that somehow your cure would be another omega irks you, you don’t want to fight. “Whatever. He’s injured anyway, you should let him rest. I’ll be okay.” 

Yoichi eventually leaves to catch a flight after almost calling in to take a day off despite it being impossible for him to do so with his schedule. He nearly misses it with how long he lingers. He tucks you into his bed and makes you promise to at least text him every hour with an update. At your bleary stare, he sighs and mutters, “Forget it. I’m calling someone.” But you’re asleep before his words enter your ears. 

Hours later, or so you assume, you wake up. It’s warmer now but the heat is external rather than internal. It’s a comfortable warmth that makes you want to sink into it further and so you do with a happy little sigh. 

“Comfortable?” 

Your eyes pop open. Yoichi’s blanket is up to your nose so it is his scent that filters through but you know that voice. Peeking over your shoulder, Oliver lays beside you. His head is held up by his hand with an amused smile. The sight of him muddles your already lagging brain so you ask, “Where’s Yoichi?” 

Oliver’s smile dims. But he recovers before you can ask him what’s wrong. “He had to go to Spain. So you’ll have to make do with me,” he cajoles. 

“Oh.” Right. He almost missed his flight before you fell asleep. “Did he make it already?”

His voice is flat as he answers, “Yeah. A couple hours ago.” 

“Ugh, and he called you right after?” you whine with a scratchy throat. Yoichi didn’t even give you a chance to prove yourself. 

Oliver continues to run his fingers up and down your back. You enjoy the soothing feel of his skin against yours before reality sinks in. “Why are you in bed with me?” you ask, scooting away from him. This is the type of strange behavior you can’t explain away with any rational though nor use his personality as an excuse for. Who the fuck did Yoichi entrust you to? 

“You’ve been getting a lot of preheat symptoms lately,” Oliver says, ignoring you. He wipes away the sweat on your hairline. You tug your blanket closer to your chin, flipping over so you’re facing the wall instead. He laughs at your attempt to ignore him and instead, wraps himself around you. His legs are longer than yours and he throws one of them over you, pulling you to his chest and tightening said leg over your hip. 

You want to blame him for why your heats have suddenly become irregular but you know you will sound ridiculous. This stuff didn’t happen before Oliver started haunting your home. 

The caramel notes to his scent deepens as he buries his nose behind your ear. The comfort of another person is too strong for you to yell at him or bite at the hand that’s slowly inching to your waist. The latent buzz in your head slows to something manageable.

“All bite and no bark,” he murmurs affectionately. 

“Shut up. Get out of my bed.” 

“Isn’t this Yoichi’s bed?”

“Su cama es mi cama.” 

“I don’t think that’s how it goes,” he says, chuckling. 

“What’s his is mine.” 

“Mm, still not right.” 

“Aren’t you supposed to be helping?” You turn around abruptly to face him. Shooing at him, you gesture towards the door. “Go be helpful and clean the living room.” 

He doesn’t move to get off the bed. Instead, he pulls you closer with his leg. “Want me to wear a maid costume while I do it, baby?” 

“‘M not your baby,” you snap. 

“You’re mine to take care of so,” he shrugs. 

You squint at him. “You’re supposed to be injured. You need to take care of yourself first.” 

He holds his hands up. “Doctor’s orders were to rest. So we should both go back to sleep.” 

“You can sleep. I need to eat something.” Untangling yourself from the blanket and from Oliver’s hold, you get up. The world tilts and the edges of your vision blacken but you quickly steady yourself before Oliver can try and do something uncouth like carry you out of the room. He groans but gets out of bed as well. 

“Yoichi ordered soup. It’s still in the kitchen.” He swings his head to look out your door and then waves his hand at you. “Get back into bed. I’ll bring it.”

You don’t need much convincing to crawl under the blanket. He laughs at your quick acquiescence, scratching at his stomach as he walks over to the kitchen. It doesn’t take long for him to come back. Multiple bowls are balanced on his arms along with a towel. He places the soup containers on your desk and sets one of your mixing bowls on top of your nightstand. Water sloshes dangerously close to the edge but he manages not to spill any. At your confusion, he explains, “A cold towel usually helps me out.” 

It’s surprisingly thoughtful. “Thanks.” You dip the cloth into the icy water. A shiver runs through you as you place the wet cloth over the back of your neck. 

He nods and then picks up one of the books cast aside on your table. It’s a fantasy novel you haven’t gotten around. He taps its spine to the edge of your dresser, kissing his teeth. “You hide your raunchier books or something?” He surveys your bookshelf, analyzing each of the titles with a quick eye. 

You lean back on your hands. “No. They’re on my phone.”

“Don’t want anyone knowing what you’re reading?” 

You shake your head. “More that it’s easier to read with one hand if it’s on your phone.”

It doesn’t compute until it does. Before he can respond, you make grabby hands at him. “Can you pass me the soup?” 

You take the container from him. You wait for him to settle on the bed before balancing the bowl on his thigh. The warmth of the soup on your skin along with the slowly warming towel on your neck is bordering on overstimulation so you make it Oliver’s burden to bear. 

“Want me to feed you or something?”

The way you consider it makes Oliver laugh. “You’re spoiled, huh?” 

You scratch at your cheek, feeling a little sheepish. “A little bit. I’m used to being babied rather than doing the babying.”

“You baby Yoichi.” His voice pitches strangely.  

You take off the wet cloth. He doesn’t have enough time to smooth out his frown. “You jealous?” you joke. 

He takes the cloth from you and soaks it once more. With a hum, he wrings it out and places it back over your neck. The chilled water is less intense against your cooled skin but you flinch nevertheless. Flipping his hand over, he rests it on your skin. “If you took those pills I gave you, you wouldn’t be dealing with this. You keep getting sick because your heat’s unregulated,” he says pointedly. 

“Aren’t those tailor made with you in mind?” you grumble. You weren’t expecting him to bring it up until after your heat passed. 

“Not really. I have to be able to give them to another omega player in case something happens. So it’s specific but not that specific.” 

The guilt that washes over you scalds you. “I didn’t handle that night well.” 

“Yeah, no shit.”

It takes you a second to string together your words but Oliver waits patiently for you to find them. He’s unreadable but not unreachable. You swirl your spoon in the broth, watching as a whirlpool forms. “The first thing my mom taught me was to never trust anything anyone gives me concerning my heat unless it was from her or a doctor I knew. So I’m extremely distrustful to a fault. Like…it’s to my detriment.” Not that anything excuses you ripping Oliver’s head off for trying to help another omega. “Doesn’t mean how I chose to react is okay. I shouldn’t have ripped into you like that. I’m sorry.” 

He lets you sweat for a full minute before nodding. “Okay.”

“We’re good?”

“Yeah, we’re good.” The words are soft, at odds with the almost violent intensity of his lidded eyes. Then he smiles, erasing what you think you saw so quickly you reassure yourself your heat addled brain is filling in spaces that do not exist. “Omegas gotta stick together, right?” 

-

This is the first time you’ve visited Oliver’s apartment. 

With the unusual resurgence of your heat cycle, you broke down and asked Oliver for some medical intervention. Yoichi tore into you when you finally admitted what you said to Oliver, appalled you could even think he would try to pull one over on you. His disappointment didn’t last long but remembering the sheer disbelief on his face sends shame sluicing through your veins. Which is why you are in front of Oliver’s door as if by taking the medication you so vehemently refused will absolve you of all sin. 

It’s bad timing on your part seeing as Oliver is on the cusp of his preheat but he insisted on you getting some of his extra strength medications to tide you over until you can get an appointment with a heat doctor. 

He opens the door. His face is flushed and there’s a pretty sheen of sweat on his skin. He’s without a shirt, a considerable amount of bare skin on display. You can’t help how your eyes immediately zero in on the outline of his half hard cock confined within his sweatpants but somehow you manage to flick your eyes back to his face in record time. His scent isn’t potent yet but it’s stronger than you’re used to. Saliva pools in your mouth as his scent works its way through your system. Something fierce begins to ache in your gums. 

He ushers you inside and you slip off your shoes. You don’t have any time to look around before Oliver is crowding into your space. 

“Can I borrow something of yours?” he asks quietly. 

That question alone is enough to lift you out of whatever haze Oliver’s preheat has put you under. A refusal is on the tip of your tongue until you give his question some more thought. There aren’t many omegas in the league and you’re sure Oliver isn’t close to any of them given how he spends the majority of his time with his omega-less team. It’s natural he’d want something of yours. The relief his presence brought you still lingers so you concede. 

Peeking over his shoulder, you see his laundry strewn on the couch. Assuming they’re clean, you nod your head towards them. “Swap with me.”  

His eyes brighten and he nods. He goes to grab one of the shirts, allowing you to properly step into his home. With a cursory glance, you note that he’s organized and clean. His taste runs more on the neutral side which surprises you for some reason. He hands you a jersey, some worn out one from a training camp, and waits earnestly. You motion with your finger for him to turn around. 

“Aw, no show, baby?” 

You give him a withering glare. “Not your baby. Turn around.” 

He obliges with minimal pouting. It takes him longer to drag his eyes away from you than it does for him to turn his body around but eventually he’s facing the wall. You quickly strip off your shirt and yank his spare jersey on. Predictably, it’s huge. It’s less comfy than you expected which is unfortunate. 

“Here.” You hold out your shirt. He turns back around, grin nearly splitting his face in half. He doesn’t bother to hide the deep sniff he takes of your shirt. 

You don’t think you need to warn him considering your scent is more of a comfort thing than something that will stoke his desire but you still sternly say, “Don’t jerk off on it.” At one point, you had to buy some cheap shirts and a value pack of underwear for Yoichi’s ruts so he’d stop using the actual clothes you wear as a cumrag. 

Oliver’s eyes crinkle. “No promises.” 

“Hilarious. Where’s the medicine?” 

“All work and no play makes for a very sad omega.”

You push past him and say over your shoulder, “I don’t think that’s how it goes.” 

He’s quick to follow after you. Yet his pace is casual, relying on the long length of his legs to keep you within reach. While you are planning to snoop around your immediate vicinity once he disappears to wherever to grab the medication, you want a glass of water first. 

“Where do you keep the cups?” 

“There’s a clean one in the sink.” 

You find said glass and fill it up with the tap, wetting your dry throat. Sweeping the kitchen with your eyes, you scrutinize how bare it is. He has the bare essentials to make a functional kitchen but there is no personality to glean off of. The only intriguing thing is the line of pill bottles laid out on the counter. You don’t mean to read the labels but they catch your eye anyway. Oliver notices how you stall, transfixed by the medicine bottles lined up on his counter. 

“They’re suppressors and inducers,” he says, coming up behind you. His hand brushes against your waist as he goes to pick up one of the glass containers. You flinch at the touch but he doesn’t move. He leans his free hand on the edge, bare chest grazing you and holds the medicine to his eye level. “It’s usually a shot I take but I opted for pills this time around.” 

You take the container from him and twist it around. There’s an innocuous sound of pills knocking against one another. It’s hard to imagine these pills are either strong enough to stop a heat cold or strong enough to induce a heat that will keep a player hormonally balanced for three months. They’re more normal than you expected them to look nor do they look like they will be lodged in your throat if you try to take them. 

The miracles of modern medicine. 

“Why pills this time?” you ask. You try to move away from him secretly but Oliver uses his other hand to pluck the bottle from you, placing it gently back on the counter. Then he steers you towards the living room, cutting an imposing figure behind you as he doesn’t let you try and weasel your way closer to the front door. 

He hums. “Just felt like something different.” He’s close enough to you that you can feel the ripple of muscle as he shrugs. He’s huge and he never lets you forget it. 

“Isn’t a shot easier?” 

“Depends. I don’t really like needles.”

“Wow, Arsenal’s final wall can be defeated by needles.” 

And then Oliver’s scent becomes intense, cloyingly so. You can’t resist the urge to bring your hand to your nose to block the smell but you try to play it off as rubbing your nose. He falters, resting his hands on your hips to center himself. Your gums ache once more. It borders on painful so you dig your teeth into the meat at the base of your thumb to keep you from doing something ridiculous like sink your canines into Oliver’s scent glands for a taste. 

The taste of blood blooms on your tongue. The salt cuts Oliver’s sweetness. Shit, he’s supposed to be another day or two from a full fledged heat but that isn’t how he currently smells. 

“Do you have everything you need for your heat?” you ask worriedly. You spin around, apologetic at how your shift in position makes him whine. 

“Why? You offering to take care of me, baby?”

Your worries dissipate marginally at the pet name. “Not your baby,” you remind him. “I thought your heats were planned to the minute.” 

“Forgot a dose last week,” he admits. You wince. That was when he was taking care of you. 

“Sorry,” you say weakly.

“I’ll be fine. ’S not my first heat alone,” he says casually. “Unless…” And his fingers make indentations into your side. His pupils are blown out with predatory intent. You try to edge away from him to no avail. A drop of sweat slides from his jaw, splattering onto his collarbones and the thread snaps. Your resolve cleaves into two and both sides fall into the abyss. 

He’s too close and you’ve let him get too close. 

You are not overly sensitive to omegas but Oliver in heat makes you hungry. Swiping your tongue over the remnants of blood coating your teeth, you rip yourself from his tightening grip. You cling to the metallic taste as a lifeline. 

“I’ll leave you to it. Have lots of fun. Bye!” 

You forget your shoes as you escape. But you manage to keep your, and Oliver’s as a byproduct, dignity intact and that will have to be a worthy trade. 

Slamming the apartment building’s door behind you, a cold shiver wracks your body that has nothing to do with the chilled London air. 

-

Turns out, the medicine doesn’t help. In fact, you’re starting to suspect it makes you worse. 

After Oliver’s heat finished, you went back to his apartment and took enough meds to last you at least two weeks if you spaced them out. You could only manage to take it for a week before the symptoms became too much for you. There is no one to blame but yourself relying on a quick fix rather than find a medication adjusted to your specifications. 

“Captain!” 

Oliver’s head swivels to the call, hand already going up in a half-wave at the white haired man heading over to him. He’s of equal height to Oliver with an astonishing amount of muscle. You don’t need to rely on your smell to know he is an alpha. 

“He’s an ex-teammate,” Yoichi whispers in your ear as he nods at the guy. 

“Ah. Small world.” 

You were supposed to be going to watch a movie on one of Yoichi’s rare free days and somehow, Rin and Oliver were roped into it as well. Rin is the last one to arrive so you are all hanging out by the entrance. 

The guy trails after Oliver, speaking quickly in a different language as Oliver rejoins the two of you. He’s easy on the eyes. Then his scent drifts to you and a near instantaneous nausea erupts in your gut. 

His clunky scent stings your nose. He’s definitely an alpha. You migrate to Yoichi and Oliver, leaning a cheek against Yoichi’s arm to clear your head. His fruity scent is peppered with Oliver’s muted sweetness but you much prefer this to whatever it is the other guy has going on. 

Oliver notices how still you have gotten and adjusts himself so he’s closer to you. With a few words, he’s able to dismiss the man and your head begins to feel clearer. But a wrongness continues to cling to you. Yoichi’s scent, while soothing, does not manage to ward away your discomfort. 

Rin frowns when he sees how the three of you are huddled and heads over. “What’s wrong with you?” 

Oliver waves him off. “Probably preheat symptoms,” he explains away lazily. Rin’s concern quickly morphs into discomfort and he tries to slink out of reach. His hands hover near you but his fingers close in slightly as if he doesn’t know if his touch will be welcomed. With a swiftness that stuns even you, you wrap your hand around Rin’s wrist and bring his pulse to your nose. His icy scent breaks through your cloudiness and the queasiness rolling in your gut begins to recede. “Not preheat,” you mumble. “That guy’s scent just makes me sick.” 

“It did?” Oliver asks. A barely detectable hint of glee pulses in his scent. 

You drop Rin’s wrist, disregarding his lightly scandalized expression. “That’s never happened before,” you say, more to yourself than as an answer. “I think I’m dying.” 

“Shut up.” Yoichi flicks the back of your head. “Didn’t you start some new medication?”

You duck away from him which sends you directly into Oliver seeing as he is determined to be an immovable object in your path. “Nah, not yet. The doctor said I still need to wean off the meds I took from Oliver.” 

“But you went cold turkey.” 

“…yeah.” 

“You’re an idiot,” Rin chimes in helpfully. 

“I took them for like a week. It can’t be that bad.” 

“You should listen to the doctor instead of doing your own thing,” he scolds. He even wags his finger in your face and you threaten to bite it. 

“Come on dude, it was just a week,” Yoichi protests, smacking his finger away. 

“You a doctor now?” Rin snaps. 

“You don’t need to be a doctor to know it’s probably okay to can go cold turkey on a medicine you only took for a week.” 

“Is your head just for show or is there actually a brain in there?” 

Rin and Yoichi devolve into their usual arguing. Naturally, Yoichi gets in Rin’s face which leaves you and Oliver to the side like some discarded toys. 

“Is it like this in the locker room?” you muse. Rin is one second away from shoving Yoichi’s face from his. 

Oliver sighs but amusement twinkles in his eyes. “It used to be worse but now coach said they’re banned from talking to each other before games.” 

“Not after?”

He slides out his phone and pulls up a video. Oliver rests his chin on your head, wrapping an arm over your shoulder to hold the screen in front of you two. After your mistake in visiting Oliver during his heat, he’s become much more blatant with his friendliness towards you. You don’t know how to put a stop to it and you fear it is too late for you to make a fuss, having let it become a norm. You try not to stiffen against his touch too noticeably. He scrolls through his camera roll before finding a video of Rin and Yoichi discussing the match, the streaks of sweat and dirt indicating this is after a game. 

“Wow, they’re like puppies you have to run ragged to get some peace,” you laugh, zooming in on the disgruntled look on Rin’s face as Yoichi writes something in the air. 

Oliver lets out of an amused puff of air and moves his head from atop yours.  Instead, he tucks his nose into your neck, skimming the tip against your scent gland. The gesture toes the line of disrespectful and yet no one milling about bats an eye at Oliver. He takes a subtle whiff, tongue darting to lick the salt off your skin before he straightens up. The light warmth from the tip of his tongue renders you speechless. Your hand goes to your neck and you can’t even muster a glare as you try to reconcile that he just licked you in broad daylight. 

“Did you jus—” 

But Oliver cuts you off by drawing Rin and Yoichi’s full attention to himself, joining in on their now civil conversation. You’re left feeling like the odd one out as you try to make sense of what just happened. He licked you. He fucking licked you. 

And when it’s your turn to contribute to the conversation you have heard none of, Oliver simply winks at you over Yoichi’s head. 

-

You start to smell Oliver on yourself.

It’s noticeable enough you’ve begun to receive teasing remarks about it. Yoichi can’t stop laughing at how aggressively you deny the accusations, placating you with ‘mm hmms’ and ‘of course I believe you’. 

The teasing is exacerbated by Oliver’s continued presence at your house. Without realizing it, you have started setting out a third plate whenever you make dinner. It’s gotten to the point where some of his training jerseys have made their way into your laundry. You’ve taken to throwing them in Yoichi’s basket to keep yourself from tossing them into the garbage.

It’s infuriating.

“Wanna watch a scary movie?” he asks, watching as you flick through the movies available. Somehow, despite you seating yourself on the very edge of the couch, Oliver has managed to corral himself into being right next to you. His arm is slung around your shoulder having dropped from resting on the back of the couch. He points at some slasher film in the guise of choosing something but it’s only to draw himself closer to you. He’s only just managed to get his thigh pressed to yours when you decide to move to the loveseat instead. He can cuddle Yoichi if he wants to be necking someone so badly. 

It’s unfortunate you have to use his thigh as to prop yourself up and the second you push off of him, Oliver curls under your chest and drags you to him. His teeth scrape against your gland and you jump out of your skin. Your elbow ricochets off of his sternum sending an aching pain radiating up your arm and Oliver to the side. He clutches at his chest, more shocked than hurt by your reaction. 

“Sorry,” you say automatically and then want to hit yourself. 

“What happened?” Yoichi calls out, poking his head out from the kitchen. He’s toweling off his hands with another slung over his shoulder. 

Oliver doesn’t acknowledge him. “Do omegas not do that here?” he asks. His eyes are wide with polite curiosity but he isn’t apologetic. 

“Omegas don’t do that anywhere!” you say incredulously, bringing your hand to your neck. The skin is sensitized whether it be from your imagination or something Oliver has done.

Yoichi makes a dissatisfied noise. “Oh.” And then he ambles back into the kitchen, uninterested in what he’s deemed omega affairs. 

But this isn’t an omega affair. This is something much more bizarre. 

“It’s common in Sweden,” is what he offers at your accusing glare. 

You don’t know anything about Swedish customs to disprove him so you must remain stewing in your irritation like some chastised child. “Don’t do it to me,” you order. You’re torn as to whether you should be pissed off or frightened by his nonchalance. 

“Did it scare you?” he mocks meanly. His tone ices your core. 

“Just…don’t do that again,” you mutter. Your stomach knots in on itself and you can’t stand to be here with this sick bastard a second longer.

Oliver seems to realize he’s overstepped into oblivion this time for he immediately drops the teasing cruelty for some derivative of repentance.  “I’m sorry. I thought it’d be funny—”

“No, you’re completely right. It’s real fucking funny.” You don’t care if you draw Yoichi out by your raised voice. 

Tears well up in your eyes. The frustration spilling out of you is overwhelming, corroding your rationality into hysteria. The sharp edges of the discomfort Oliver has forced upon you skins you layer after layer until all that’s left is a pile of shredded sanity. 

You want to go home but this is your home. So you have to leave and force yourself to act as if it is your independence fueling the choice and not cowardice. 

“Fuck, I’m leaving,” you say, grabbing your keys. Yoichi’s head is wildly swinging between you and Oliver. Their words are incomprehensible in the face of the blood pounding in your head. You’ve interrupted him but you don’t care to repeat yourself, shaking off Oliver’s hand as you head to the door. 

You don’t remember getting in your car nor the drive to the hotel but you do remember looking in the rearview mirror and seeing a nick on your scent gland. 

By the next morning, your skin is rubbed raw from how furiously you tried to wash away any traces of Oliver. 

-

You no longer eat dinner at home. In fact, the only times you find yourself home are during Arsenal’s training or right before bed. No matter Yoichi’s pleas, you do not budge. And miraculously, your heats begin to stabilize again.

You link it to the stress you always brushed aside when it came to Oliver. You hardly see him anymore and that alone has done wonders in settling whatever discrepancies he caused in you. 

A flicker of heat begins to warm your lower belly. Yoichi is visiting some old teammates in Germany for the weekend so you have a couple of your sex toys laid out on your bed charging. You never thought there would be a day you’d be so relieved feel your regular heat symptoms again. The insatiable horniness that has afflicted you these past few cycles had you worrying for your clit’s safety. 

A knock on the door has you flinging your blanket over your toys before you realize how ridiculous you are being. You ordered groceries for the weekend and they must have already arrived. The delivery guy probably already left as soon as he knocked. 

You open the door. You are only able to open it enough to know it is not your groceries outside.

“Wait.” And then there is a foot jammed between the door and the frame. You have half a mind to pull the door back and slam with your notably reduced strength just to hear him squeal. Preferably, you would also injure him enough to cause him to be benched for the next four games. But you are a nice person with a gentle heart and a fear of being sued so you keep the door where it is. 

“We need to talk. I know you’re mad but it’s been weeks,” he pleads, “Please.”

“Okay.”

He waits. When you don’t move to open the door wider, he says, “Can I at least do this inside?”

“No. Say what you want to say and go away.” 

He’s kept a polite distance, despite his foot blocking the door, but now he peeks into the opening. He’s about to speak when his nostrils flare. 

Oliver doesn’t bother to keep up his polite facade and practically rips the door off of its hinges.

You stumble backwards, alarmed at his sudden flurry of movement. 

“You’re in heat.” He says it as if it’s a shock, as if it’s something you should have informed him about. 

“Oliver, you have to go,” you say, rubbing your temple. An ache is festering in you and you can tell it will tip into lust soon. And you do not want Oliver to have the privilege of hearing how you fuck yourself through your heats. 

However, he doesn’t leave as you ask. Rather, he shuts the door behind him softly. 

“Oliver,” you warn, taking a step back. Fatigue has begun to weigh down on you as your heat begins to spread. The simmering embers start to flame out and you can feel yourself become damp.

In a horrifyingly short amount of time, he’s cleared the distance between you two. He’s got your chin tipped upwards before you can make an attempt for your room. 

Oliver’s kiss is both invasive and possessive as if he owns every inch of you. It’s a graceless one, born of need for substance than anything else. But he catches you with your mouth open, the beginnings of an argument on your tongue, and he must taste it for he swallows you whole. He kisses you deeper, practically fucking your mouth with his tongue. 

The drag of his tongue is potent in the same way alcohol poisoning can be considered intoxicating. 

He backs you into the couch, knees braced on either side of you. Oliver pulls back just enough to let you breathe but it’s a useless effort for he slips you out of your shorts in the next moment. The brush of his fingertips against your wet cunt steals all air from your lungs. 

Your fight-or-flight instincts have abandoned you. The fear that should be jellying your knees has become conspirators with your increasing lust. The low heat simmering in your stomach is stoked into a roaring fire as Oliver’s weight pins you down. 

His fingers slide in slowly underneath your underwear, testing how far you’ll let him in. You take him to the last knuckle, breath punching out of you when he crooks them. He pumps his fingers in and out of you leisurely and it feels like agony. Pleasure begins to spark at the base of your spine but only the sort that brings forth nothing satisfactory. The ache in you grows worse as Oliver’s fingers fuck you with brutal precision. His rhythm is steady and slow and aggravating. Your push your hips down but all Oliver does is laugh. 

“Oliver,” you whine, raising your hips now to see if that’ll spur him into action instead. 

His fingers still. You keen at the loss. “Mm?” He’s looking down at you through his lashes, mouth slightly open in awe at how easily you part for him. 

You don’t want to ask so you settle with a quiet, “Please.”

“Use your words, baby,” he chides playfully. 

Fury roils in your gut at his sadism but it soon dissipates into your overwhelming lust. A searing heat burns within you and you press a pitiful kiss against the corner of his mouth. Everything feels so unbearably hot you can’t stand it. “Please fuck me.” Your shame is hollow when you realize the plea doesn’t taste of betrayal. 

His face blanks out before a delirious grin splits his face. 

“You don’t know what you need, baby,” he shushes, slipping off his pants. “That’s why you need me.” 

Even in your heat-addled brain, you defy him. “I don’t.” 

And for an ungodly moment, nothing exists save for the feel of Oliver’s cock against your clothed entrance. “Not before,” he concedes, catching your underwear at the sides and pulling down, “But you will.” 

(𝟏) 𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋

ও rating. explicit

ও summary. you work for an anonymous phone sex business on campus, andyou would have never guessed that your first client would be the Atsumu Miya—most popular guy on campus who sits three seats ahead of you in calculus. and you’re pretty sure he doesn’t even know you exist. | wc.

cw/ tw. college au. nerd!reader, volleyball player Atsumu, phone sex, dirty talk, mild hurt/comfort, miscommunication, fraternity parties, rough sex, unprotected sex, praise kink, strangers to lovers

ও featuring. Atsumu x Fem!Reader 

ও an. okay, i turned my self-indulgent fic into a multi-part fic:) please comment on this post if you’d like to be tagged.

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

Please remember to read all content warnings before proceeding.

Part One—You get your first caller, and can’t tell why he sounds so familiar…until you do.

cw/ tw. phone sex, praise kink, pet names (ex. baby, sweetheart)

Part Two—After weeks of phone calls, you get to know Atsumu which makes pretending a little more difficult.

cw/ tw. tba…

Part Three—Things get even more difficult when Atsumu needs help with his homework before his next game, and who better to help him than the class tutor.

cw/ tw. tba…

Part Four—The truth always finds a way of coming out.

cw/ tw. tba…

Part Five—Atsumu confronts you.

cw/ tw. tba…

© satorini 2022—do not copy, paste, or translate my works anywhere.

good things will happen 🧿

things that are meant to be will fall into place 🧿

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